Shadows of Evil
by chocolatequeen
Summary: The Centre and Jarod's destinies are intrixably intwined. Epilogue posted!
1. Rouen, 1280

Title: Shadow of Evil Author: Chocolatequeen Genre: Historical Drama Rating: PG Disclaimer: I do not own The Pretender or any of the characters portrayed therein. They are the property of some rich, smart people who are getting money to do what I am shamelessly doing for free. There are a few characters that are obviously mine, since you never saw them on the show. Summary: I'm building on Jarod's question in The Island of the Haunted to the monk about the monastery being founded by an offshoot of the Knights Templar. The chapters will alternate between the writing and hiding and finding of the scrolls and Jarod tracking them down, eventually discovering what his own destiny is.  
  
Prologue: Rouen, France; 1280  
  
"What visions in the dark of night!" Samuel Beckett.  
  
It was dark in the city of Rouen, and most of the Knights Templar were sleeping peacefully. However, it was at night that the visions came to Addecius, taunting him with the clarity of the world they showed. The young knight moaned as he tossed and turned, struggling against sleep and the images that came with it.  
  
As the last scene faded away, he finally broke free. Sitting upright on his cot, he took in his surrounding as if to assure himself that he was still in his humble room in Rouen and not in that sterile, cold stone building he'd become so familiar with. Yes, he was back where he belonged. His chain mail and simple white tunic remained draped over the back of his chair and his shield leaned against the wall, the red cross on it glowing in the dim light provided by the dying fire.  
  
Gazing at the symbol, the knight knew what he had to do. With a sigh, he rose from the bed and lit a candle. He'd been praying constantly for a sign of what to do with this view he had of the future, and tonight the Lord had given him a sign. Just as he should not hide his light under a bushel, so also should he openly share what he had been given. The visions had been coming to him every night for two weeks; visions of a far-off place, people consumed by an evil power, and the one man who could change it all. Taking a quill in hand, he began to set his prophecy to parchment, even as he prayed it would never come true.  
  
But he knew that if it did, if this shadow of evil ever grew into reality, this man-this Jarod-would need to understand the role he would play, and only Addecius could explain it to him. 


	2. Edinburgh, present

Author's note: Before you read this chapter, I should explain the basic structure of the story. The even numbered chapters follow the scrolls in their journey from Rouen to their eventual resting place in Scotland, focusing heavily on Vespas and the original Parker. The odd numbered chapters take place in the present as Jarod finds clues explaining either where the scrolls were or what was in them.  
  
Chapter 1: The library at the University of Edinburgh; present time  
  
Jarod scanned the titles on the shelf, not exactly sure what he was looking for. "Templars: Knights of God. A History of the Knights Templar. Somehow I don't think either of those will have what I'm looking for. I'm going to need some professional help," he said, sending a pleading glance toward the front desk.  
  
The two women sitting there had been watching him for several minutes. "He's not going to be able to find whatever it is he's looking for," the first one said, observing the frustrated expression on his face. "One of us is going to have to go help him. Do you want to take this one?"  
  
"No Elaine, you made me talk to the last nutcase. It's your turn," her companion declared, tossing her hair over her shoulder flippantly.  
  
"Fine Maude," Elaine gave in with a sigh, "but if he turns out to be anything like the crazy man looking for 50 different ways to kill someone with his bare hands, you owe me." She started walking toward the stranger, giving her friend a pointed look just before reaching him. Maude simply smiled unrepentantly and gave her a cute little wave that said, "You're on your own."  
  
With an exasperated sigh, Elaine approached her mysterious patron. "Excuse me sir, can I help you find anything?" she enquired, a polite expression on her face.  
  
"Actually, I was wondering if you had any information on the Knights Templar," the man replied, giving her a hopeful smile.  
  
Elaine was pleasantly surprised by his smooth baritone voice, but she remained slightly aloof, remembering that Fifty Ways Man had a nice voice too. "I might be able to help you, was there anything specific you're interested in learning about the Military Order of the Knights of the Temple of Solomon?" she asked professionally.  
  
"Yes actually there is, Elaine," Jarod answered after stealing a glance at her name tag. "I'm particularly interested in any islands they might have had a large presence on, or islands where we are perhaps just unearthing signs of Templar influence."  
  
Elaine's eyes, which had gone slightly frosty at his use of her first name, lit up when she heard his request. "Oh! That's my friend's favorite topic. Come with me, I'm sure she'll be willing to help you," she insisted, practically dragging him across the room to the circulation desk.  
  
"Elaine!" Maude hissed when she saw them coming from where she was hiding behind the circulation desk. "I told you it was your turn!"  
  
"Oh don't worry Maude, he's not crazy," Elaine assured her, bring Jarod around to meet her.  
  
"That's right Maude, I promise I'm perfectly sane," the man echoed good- naturedly, holding his hand out for her to shake.  
  
She purposely ignored his overture of friendship, choosing instead to look at him skeptically before asking, "Really? And is that what I should call you, or do you have a normal name like everyone else, Mr. I'm Perfectly Sane?"  
  
Laughing outright at her bluntness, he replied, "My name is Jarod."  
  
"And just wait till you hear what he's looking for!!" Elaine bubbled enthusiastically, gesturing for Jarod to explain.  
  
But before he had a chance, Maude cut him off. "What might that be?" she questioned, resigning herself to the task at hand while shooting a venemous glance at her friend. They were going to have a talk later about remembering to take turns and not introducing strangers to each other. Or maybe she could just get her back. After all, the library could be a creepy place at night and Elaine was afraid of the dark.  
  
A devious smile spread across her face as the scene played out in her mind. She became so involved in her plotting that she missed the first few words Jarod said. ". Where there was a Templar presence," he finished, looking at her expectantly.  
  
"I'm sorry, I missed the first few words. What did you want to know about the Templars?" she asked, refusing to wince at the remonstrative look on Elaine's face.  
  
"I'm doing some research on the Knights Templar and I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the Templar presence on islands in the North or Baltic Seas," Jarod repeated patiently.  
  
"Ah!" she said, all thoughts of revenge gone. Elaine was right, this was something she was interested in. "Have you heard of Bornholm, or are you just on a fishing excursion?"  
  
"Bornholm?" Jarod repeated, tilting his head slightly in a gesture of interest. "No, I haven't heard of it. The name sounds Danish, is it?"  
  
"Yes actually. What are you, a linguist or something?"  
  
"Not quite. you could just say I know a lot of things about a lot of things," he answered enigmatically. "So Bornholm had a strong Templar presence?"  
  
"Definitely. There are 15 churches on the island that they're now relatively certain were built by the Knights Templar. The churches are all aligned in perfect geometric patterns with each other in a manner that echoes certain elements of the construction at Rennes-le-Chateau. Also, four of the churches were built in the style of the round Templar churches, such as the Templar church at Tomar in Portugal."  
  
"Geometric positions; you mean the square inside the circle and the star patterns lining up the positioning of the individual churches?" Jarod asked, drawing on what he had read about the Templars.  
  
"Exactly," she told him, impressed by his knowledge.  
  
"What two churches form the axis?" he inquired, referring to the line between two points in the design that would bisect the pattern. He knew that if what he was looking for was on Bornholm, it would be in one of those places.  
  
"Østerlars and Nylars, two of the round churches."  
  
Jarod filed that piece of information away and moved on to another question. "Do they have any idea why the Templars were so interested in Bornholm?" he aksed, hoping they'd found something connecting the churches to mysterious scrolls.  
  
"Does anyone really understand why the Knights Templar did anything?" Maude asked with a laugh. "There are some hypotheses out there but no one can know for sure. One of the best guesses is that they were built to hide some sort of secret knowledge."  
  
"Solis sacerdotibus," Jarod murmured thoughtfully.  
  
"What was that?" "Only for the initiated," he translated.  
  
"Ah yes, the hidden secrets of the Knights Templar. It sounds like a video game or something."  
  
"It does, doesn't it?" Jarod replied with a grin. "But it's the secrets that make studying the Knights so intriguing."  
  
"You have a point there," Maude agreed.  
  
"And hopefully I'll find some of the hidden secrets I'm looking for on Bornholm. Is there still research going on at the island?"  
  
"Oh yes! They're still excavating sites and finding new information. Actually, they just recently discovered a hidden crypt underneath the Østerlars Church. That's where most of the research is centered right now."  
  
"Østerlars was one of the churches on the main axis, right? Jarod asked, his mind racing at the mention of a crypt. Burial places had played a large part in the story so far, it made sense that they would continue to do so.  
  
"That's right. It's also the focal point for the two circles."  
  
"That sounds like a good place to start my adventure then. Thank you both for your help!"  
  
Jarod extended his hand once more and this time Maude took it and shook it warmly. "Thank you Jarod, it's not everyday I have someone come into my library interested in anything more than getting a passing grade on their next paper. I hope you find what you're looking for."  
  
"I hope I can figure out what I'm looking for," he said secretively, waving cheerfully at the two women as he walked out of the building. 


	3. Bornholm, Denmark: 1306

Chapter 2: Bornholm, Denmark; 1306  
  
"Vespas!" Addecius called out, chasing after his fellow knight. "I was wondering." He stopped short, question forgotten, when he took in the bag the younger man carried. "Are you leaving the island?" he asked, surprised.  
  
"Yes. Yes I am Addecius," Vespas said, nodding firmly as he tightened his grip on the satchel.  
  
"But why?"  
  
"How can you ask me that?" he asked, exasperated by the older man's innocence. "Can you honestly say that you're happy trapped here on this rock?" Seeing the expression on Addecius' face, he sighed and said, "I suppose you can. Well not I my friend! I am going to France; I need to get back to where more of the action is."  
  
"Is action really all you want Vespas?" Addecius inquired. "Isn't it enough to."  
  
"No. Don't try to talk me out of it Addecius," Vespas said, his expression hardening. "I respect you, but my mind is made up. Good bye and God be with you," he added as he walked away.  
  
"And also with you my friend," Addecius said sadly as he watched him leave. The younger knights in the Order did not understand the whole purpose of the Templars. All they wanted was glory and power.  
  
Power. The word triggered a suspicion and a familiar sense of foreboding. Fear caused his heart to pound as he turned toward the Østerlars church, a sense of urgency quickening his steps.  
  
Thirty minutes later, he was staring at the empty box disbelievingly. He had suspected for some time now that his comrade in arms did not join the Templar Order with wholly honorable intentions, but he had never foreseen this. Surely not even Vespas would be willing to unleash the evil described in the scrolls!  
  
He looked around the crypt, hoping against hope that they had somehow been put in another place, but when his gaze settled back on the box and the secret chamber that had been their hiding place for twenty five years he knew it was in vain. The scrolls were gone, on their way to France with Vespas. He wearily replaced the empty box beneath the stone sepulcher and left the crypt.  
  
He had failed in his goal. Why had he not realized that the mysterious scrolls he had seen in his vision were the very ones he had been penning himself? Why had the Lord impressed upon him the need to preserve his vision, ensuring that it would come true?  
  
As he walked the miles back to the village, a thought occurred to him. True, the scrolls were gone, taken by Vespas as he attempted to make them come true. Yes, this had happened just as he had foreseen it would, but he could still leave a warning for Jarod.  
  
Sitting down with an open scroll in front of him, he was struck by an eerie sense of déjà vu. "Isn't this what caused all this trouble to begin with?" he wondered. "Do I dare risk that evil hands might discover this once more?"  
  
But in the end, his surpassing need to explain himself to Jarod and to apologize for his negligence overcame his fears. Picking up his quill and dipping it in the ink, he began to write.  
  
Bornholm, Denmark  
  
November 3, The Year of Our Lord Thirteen Hundred and Six  
  
To Jarod, the One who has been Chosen;  
  
I, Addecius, a Knight of the Military Order of the Temple of Solomon, write these things in penance for my most grievous error in judgment. Some twenty five years ago, I was visited by a series of visions; visions which depicted a chain of events that would lead to the foundation of the organization you know as The Centre. In my folly I wrote them down, not realizing that by doing so I myself was making their fruition possible, as the first vision showed one of my fellow knights stealing scrolls that I now know were mine.  
  
Shortly after the visions ended, I left Rouen for the island of Bornholm. For twenty five years this remote location littered with hiding places has aided my goal. I have kept the scrolls safely hidden, hoping I could prevent them from coming true. Then this afternoon, after watching one of our Order leave the island with unexpected haste, I felt the need to make sure they remained in their place. However, when I opened the box, it was empty. My fears were confirmed: Vespas had stolen them and was hoping to make them come true.  
  
I have no idea how he found them; I thought I had hidden them well. I didn't tell anyone of the cubby hole I created beneath the crypt and I didn't think anyone else was even aware of the scrolls existence. I suppose it makes no difference now since I cannot undo what has already been done.  
  
No, it is no longer within my power to halt the rise of the Centre, but I will do what I can to assure its downfall. Jarod, I trust that you will find this letter someday in the same way I had hoped you would find the scrolls. When you do, it is vital for you to understand that you alone have the power to stop this evil. It is a power, an ability you were born with; it is your destiny. Use your talents to stop them Jarod, or everything I have worked for will be in vain.  
  
Again, I am sorry that I did not have the foresight to realize what would happen to the scrolls. Please forgive this old man's foolishness which has already cost you so much.  
  
Addecius  
  
Rising from his seat, he started back to the church. This letter would rest in the same spot where the scrolls had been; hidden in the secret crypt beneath the Østerlars altar. Hopefully it would remain there undisturbed until Jarod found it. 


	4. Bornholm, Denmark: present

Chapter 3: Bornholm, Denmark; present time  
  
Jarod surveyed the excavation site from the sidelines for a moment before joining the fray. From the outside, the church was a simple, white, round building, but the beauty of its design became apparent when you stepped through the door. It was supported by a thick, central pillar that had arches cut into in the Templar style with a mural painted around the top. The nave was unusually wide, a concession made to the shape of the building.  
  
As he finished his perusal, one of the workmen looked up and noticed him standing there. "Excuse me sir," he said, "but this site is restricted. Only people with a permit are allowed, I'm afraid you will have to leave."  
  
"A permit like this you mean?" Jarod responded, pulling a paper out of his inside jacket pocket and handing it to him.  
  
The Dane glanced at it and then grudgingly said, "Yes, something like this."  
  
"I also have a letter of reference if you would like to read it," Jarod added, handing him a second piece of paper.  
  
The other man silently accepted the letter, scanning over it quickly. His eyebrows rose a little when he saw the name of the man in front of him. "Wait a minute, you're Dr. Carter?" he asked, amused. "That's a good name for an archaeologist to have. Are you related to the Dr. Howard Carter of King Tut fame at all, or is it just a coincidence?"  
  
"Just a lucky coincidence, although you could say he inspired my career choice," Jarod replied with a smile.  
  
"Well Doctor, if this letter of reference is any indication the luck is all ours. The University of Edinburgh seems to hold you in very high regard."  
  
"Yes, I highly enjoyed the time I spent there," Jarod answered, not mentioning that it had only been one day and the day had been spent in the library searching for information. "My colleagues were especially helpful in leading me to your project."  
  
"It's good to know the scholastic world is taking us seriously. My name is Eric, I'm the foreman. Welcome aboard. Now this letter said that you're here looking for something in particular, but it was very vague as to what it was. If you fill me in, I could help you find it as soon as possible."  
  
"My request might sound a little odd, but I have reason to believe that some scrolls I'm searching for might have been here on Bornholm at one point before eventually arriving in Scotland."  
  
"Scrolls?" Eric questioned, his voice strangled.  
  
"Yes, scrolls. When they reached Scotland they were in the possession of a former Knight Templar by the name of Vespas. Are you all right?" he asked, concern flashing across his face as they other man turned white as a sheet.  
  
"Jarod. I believe I have something for you," he replied quietly, his voice holding a combination of awe and fear.  
  
Jarod's heart stopped for a moment from anticipation. "The scrolls?" he finally managed to ask.  
  
"Not quite. Please come with me," he requested and turned toward the heart of the church where there was a ladder leading below the altar.  
  
Jarod followed the other man down into the crypt. "Yorick," Eric called out once they were inside the hidden chamber.  
  
"Yes sir?" one of the men replied, walking toward them.  
  
"Yorick, this man is searching for some scrolls he believes might have been on Bornholm at one point." When he saw that the connection was not clear yet, he added, "His name is Jarod," as if that held all the explanation necessary.  
  
Apparently it did, for Yorick's eyes widened and he said, "Ja. Jarod? You mean he is the Jarod?"  
  
"Yes, Jarod. I believe we have something for him, don't you?"  
  
"Yes sir," Yorick said, walking toward the sarcophagus.  
  
"What did he mean, "The Jarod?" Jarod asked, his danger senses heightened by the fact that they seemed to have been expecting him.  
  
"I suppose I should explain a little bit," Eric said as Jarod watched curiously while Yorick knelt beside the tomb and pulled a box out of a compartment. "Not long after we found the crypt, x-ray and sonogram technology told us that there was a hidden chamber, a hollow spot underneath the actual coffin here. We explored a little and found the opening, and this inside," he said, nodding toward the box Yorick was bringing to them. "There's something. Just look at it," he ordered and then followed Yorick back toward the main part of the church.  
  
Just before he ducked through the opening however, he turned back slightly and asked, "You can read Latin can't you?"  
  
"It is pretty much a pre-requisite to study Medieval legends."  
  
"Good point. Come back up when you're through and we can talk." With that, he disappeared.  
  
The pretender stared at the box quizzically for a minute, wondering what could be inside that could spook the archaeologist so badly and how it was connected to the Vespasian scrolls. "Well there is only one way to find out," he told himself as he carefully pried the lid off.  
  
Inside laid a small piece of parchment, yellowed and brittle with age. Picking it up with care, Jarod began to read. After the first line it was clear why Yorick had been so startled by his questions-it was a letter for him. Not only that, it was a letter that had been written almost 700 years ago and yet mentioned him by name and linked him to the Centre. If he didn't know better, he would have thought this was an elaborate ruse by Lyle to capture him. In fact, for an instant his reflexes flared, his eyes darting around the small chamber, expecting to see sweepers surrounding him.  
  
"Relax," he told himself, forcing the adrenaline to leave his system. "There is no way even Lyle would do the research that would be necessary for a trap like this." He took a moment to re-read the letter, searching for some clue as to its origin, something that would explain how the old knight had known about him. When he found nothing, he shook his head and wandered back to the main part of the church.  
  
"Did you find what you were looking for?" Eric asked him.  
  
"Not exactly," Jarod replied, still not quite sure what to make of this 700 year old letter. If it was true, then he was meant to take down the Centre. That certainly went a long way toward explaining why the scrolls were so important to the whole Parker clan-they must describe the Centre's downfall as well as its inception.  
  
He was brought out of his rapid fire thoughts by Eric's question. "Do you know what this Centre is?"  
  
"Unfortunately," he said, his lips curling into a tight smile.  
  
Eric noticed the shadow of pain that flitted across his face and said, "I take it our good knight was correct in saying they would cause you heartache."  
  
"You could say that," Jarod said succinctly, reluctant to give away anything else.  
  
"Look, if you don't want to talk about I understand," Eric told him, holding up his hands to show his openness. "It's just that I've been curious about that letter since we found it, and I never expected you would show up. You can only imagine how I feel right now."  
  
"At least it wasn't addressed to you."  
  
"True," Eric admitted. "I guess you win on the shocked scale right now. Listen, whatever happens with this thing, come back to tell us about it if you can. My men and I have been dying to know what that letter was about; we would love to hear the end of the story."  
  
"I don't know when it will all end, but if I can, I'll come back and tell you the whole thing, from the beginning," Jarod promised.  
  
"Thanks. So. good luck Jarod," Eric told him, holding his hand out.  
  
"Thank you for all your help Eric," Jarod said, shaking his hand and walking out into the late September sun. 


	5. Calais, 1307

A/N: I know some of the language in this chapter seems slightly anachronistic, as the note did in chapter two. However, in both cases the actual language being spoken or written wasn't English at all-the note was written in Latin and the ruffians in this chapter are speaking French. Instead of trying to use older English, I attempted to portray the age of the note and the class of the characters with my phrasing. Hence the fact that these characters sound like a cross between pirates and hoodlums.. That's basically what they are.  
  
Chapter 4: Calais, France; July 1307  
  
"To be fulfilled, a prophecy needs lots of flexibility." Mason Cooley.  
  
Sir Vespas walked down the cobblestone street quickly, his eyes shifting back and forth, looking for any sign of trouble. In the eight months he had been in France, public opinion had been swinging against the Knights Templar. The signature white cloak emblazoned with the red cross was now met with distrust or even outright animosity where it had once inspired awe and admiration.  
  
Everyone seemed to suspect that the Templars had some secret knowledge or hidden agenda. For Sir Vespas himself this was particularly nerve wracking since he did have plans of his own, plans which he was not about to divulge. Absent-mindedly patting the pouch hanging from his shoulder to assure himself that the scrolls were still there, he hurried toward the dock, going over his strategy one more time.  
  
Lost in thought, he didn't notice the four ruffians slowly walking toward him until he was surrounded. "Well looky here," one of them sneered. "If it isn't one of them high and mighty Knights Templar, walking around with his head in the clouds."  
  
"Yeah, what good could they ever do if all they're thinking about is themselves and their wisdom?" another taunted.  
  
"Why don't we show him what real fighting is like boys?" a third suggested.  
  
Vespas was reaching for his sword, confident in his ability to take the knaves, when a voice came from the shadows. "I wouldn't recommend that gentlemen," it said softly and menacingly. Turning around, he saw three of his brothers standing behind him, swords drawn. Faced with the prospect of an even fight against trained men, the four drifters fled.  
  
"Thank you good knights," Vespas said, relaxing, "but I'm sure that wasn't necessary. I could have handled it."  
  
"Yes, you most likely could have," agreed the one who had spoken earlier. "However, part of the benefit of having comrades is not having to take care of everything yourself."  
  
"True," Vespas admitted.  
  
The knight looked him over, taking in the bag he carried and the small pouch slung over his shoulder. "Are you leaving France?" he questioned as the other two knights turned and left.  
  
"In about ten minutes," Vespas answered affirmatively.  
  
"You may prove to be the wisest of us all. Good luck to you brother, and Godspeed," he said, saluting.  
  
"Godspeed," Vespas replied, continuing on toward the dock.  
  
The political climate had indeed changed and this proved it. It was time to find a new home; someplace where he could hide the scrolls until the time came for them to come true. According to the scrolls, that place was Scotland. In just a few short minutes he would step onto a boat bound for England, where the Order was still revered. He would join his brothers in Dover for a short while before continuing north to his own destiny.  
  
When he arrived at the waterfront, he pulled his bag closer toward, looking around cautiously for any other bandits. Not seeing any, he proceeded toward the boat that was bound for Dover.  
  
As he stepped onto the gently rocking boat it briefly occurred to him that there was one part of the prophecy he had not made plans for: the man Parker. But just as quickly as it came he shoved it aside, focusing instead on the journey in front of him. If the scrolls truly contained a prophecy, he wouldn't need to worry about finding Parker; Parker would find him.  
  
Dover, England: August 1307  
  
A self-satisfied smile crossed Sir Vespas' face. He had made it across the Channel with little difficulty. The scrolls were still safe, now he just needed to find someone to take him north. For that he was going to rely on the help of one of his comrades; a young, naïve knight named Daniel.  
  
"Daniel," Vespas said, drawing the young man to his side, "I am in need of help, would you be so kind as to offer your services?"  
  
"Of course Sir Vespas," Daniel replied eagerly. "What can I do for you?"  
  
Vespas hid a smile. The younger man's hero worship was making this too easy. "I'm planning to go farther north. Do you know of anyone with a boat who would be willing to take me as far as North Umbria?" he asked.  
  
Disappointment was written across Daniel's features. "You wish to leave us my lord?" he asked plaintively. "Don't you think it unwise to attempt such a journey in these times? You can't know for sure if you will find people sympathetic to our cause when you put to shore."  
  
Vespas frowned for a moment. He had not counted on the boy's attachment to make him unwilling to help him further his plans. "It isn't that I wish to leave you Daniel," he hastened to reassure him. "But I have received a vision and in it I was told to go north. Perhaps the unrest will sweep across the Channel from France and we'll all need to retreat; perhaps Our Lord is sending me first to prepare a place for us. I don't know, I only know what I must do. Will you help me?"  
  
"Yes Sir," Daniel agreed reluctantly.  
  
"Wonderful! Then do you know the name of a loyal man who will take me in his boat?"  
  
"Why are you planning to make the trip by boat sir? Wouldn't it be much faster over land?"  
  
"That may be true, but as you have already pointed out these aren't the safest times to be seen in knightly garb. If I travel on the water, there will be no one to witness my trip but the fishes."  
  
Daniel nodded sagely; that made perfect sense. "If you go down to the waterfront area, you'll find many of the local fishermen. Ask for a family named Parker, the youngest son is unmarried and thirsting for adventure."  
  
"Parker?" Vespas asked, his false nonchalance barely covering the excitement that thrummed through him at that name.  
  
"Yes. His first name is Eli-Eli Parker."  
  
"Thank you Daniel, you have been a greater help to me than you will ever know," Vespas stated truthfully.  
  
"You are most welcome Sir Vespas." Daniel studied him for a moment before asking hesitantly, "Sir. if the time ever comes that we are forced north, I will be welcome in the new home you are creating, won't I?"  
  
"Let us all pray that day never comes Daniel," Vespas replied solemnly, placing his hand on Daniel's shoulder.  
  
"Of course Sir. Godspeed."  
  
"God be with you, my young knight," Vespas said before hurrying toward the waterfront.  
  
He arrived at the docks in short order and approached one of the fisherman who was tending to his nets. "Excuse me, I'm looking for someone and I was wondering if you could help me find him."  
  
The fisherman straightened importantly when the knight asked for his help. "Of course sir, who did you need to find?"  
  
"His name is Eli Parker, have you heard of him?"  
  
"Ah, but everyone's heard of the Parkers! Are you sure you wanted Eli and not one of his older brothers, Daniel perhaps?"  
  
"No, it is Eli I need to talk to. Could you direct me toward where I might find him?"  
  
"He'll be working on his family's boats and nets just two docks down," the man replied, pointing to his right where Vespas could see a young man kneeling on the pier, intent on his work.  
  
"Thank you for your trouble," Vespas said and hurried toward him.  
  
"Are you Eli Parker?" he asked when he reached the dock.  
  
"I am sir."  
  
"I have need of a boat and someone to get me to where I need to be going. Would you be willing to help a humble knight on his quest?"  
  
Eli stared at him for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. "How far do you need to go sir?" he asked.  
  
"As far as North Umbria."  
  
"That is quite a ways," the young man said, letting out a low whistle.  
  
"It is only half of the distance I need to travel in total," Vespas countered. "Once I reach Newcastle I will travel the rest of the way on foot."  
  
"I suppose I can help you out. I'm clearly not much use to my family," he said disdainfully, gesturing toward the sail he had been patching. "They trained me to be a fisherman, but all I ever do is sit here on the dock and repair their tools."  
  
"The curse of being the youngest," Vespas said with understanding.  
  
"Exactly my lord. When did you need to leave?"  
  
"As soon as you can tell your family you will be gone for a while."  
  
"Let me go home and talk to my mother. I'll be right back."  
  
Vespas waited patiently while the young Parker hurried home. Parker! Could it be that this Eli Parker was the forefather of the same Parker who would one day find greatness through the scrolls? It certainly seemed that someone was guiding his steps; perhaps the Centre was even a part of the Divine Plan! Either way, he finally had the last key to the puzzle, now he only needed await the proper time. 


	6. Blue Cove, present

Chapter 5: Blue Cove, Delaware; present time  
  
"What am I doing here?" Parker moaned as she looked at the disaster in front of her. The attic was filled with boxes and old, out-dated, furniture under dust clothes. It certainly was not the type of place she would usually choose to spend her Saturday morning. "This is all Sydney's fault," she whined as she remembered how she had ended up here.  
  
She had been sitting in her office, brooding as usual, when Sydney walked in. "Why hello Sydney, yes I'd love to talk to you," she had said sarcastically, not even looking up from her work.  
  
"I just wanted to remind you that next weekend is "Take your trash to the curb" weekend."  
  
"That's where my trash goes every week, Dr. Know-it-all," she told him with a smirk.  
  
"I know, but this is the time when you can put anything non-toxic out there and they will pick it up at no extra charge. I was thinking it might be a good time for you to go through some of your father's things."  
  
For the first time since he had walked in the door, she looked him in the eye. "I'm not getting rid of any of it Sydney," she said icily.  
  
"Parker, it is time," Sydney said, gently prodding her. "Your father has been gone for over a year now, you need to go through the house."  
  
"I don't need to do anything Sydney," she bit back, giving him a glare that would have sent most men running. The psychiatrist however simply met it with his patented patient, supportive gaze. She looked away after a minute, and when she spoke again, her voice was noticeably softer. "Look Syd, I know you're only trying to help, but I'm just not sure I'm ready for that. If I start cleaning out the house then."  
  
Sydney nodded compassionately. "If you go through his things it means he's not coming back," he finished as Broots walked in.  
  
"Hey guys. ah, am I interrupting something?" he asked.  
  
"Doesn't anyone knock around here?" Parker groaned, dropping her head into her hands.  
  
"Do you want me to go?" he asked, unsure of himself.  
  
"No Broots, you might as well have a seat. We were just discussing. my father's house."  
  
"Raines? Ick." he said, trailing off when he saw the look on her face. "Oh, you mean. sorry."  
  
Parker ignored him, turning back to Sydney and picking up where she had left off. "Anyway Sydney, I'm just not ready to face the fact that he isn't coming back. All of his things. everything in that house reminds me of him."  
  
"Maybe you should work up to it," Broots suggested tentatively.  
  
"And just how do you propose I do that?" Parker drawled, rolling her eyes in exasperation.  
  
"Start in a room that he didn't use often. Then it isn't so much like you're going through his things as it is cleaning the house for his return."  
  
"That would be a good idea Broots, except for one problem. My father lived alone in that house for almost thirty years. There isn't one room that is not 100% his."  
  
"What about the attic Parker?" Sydney asked. "I seem to remember him telling me that he had put all of Catherine's things in the attic after her death. I ca not imagine he would have gone up there much, if at all."  
  
"Right, and going through my mother's things would be so much easier," Parker snorted derisively.  
  
"You have to start somewhere," Sydney pointed out mildly. "The attic seems to be as good a place as any."  
  
And that was why she was standing here, dressed in jeans with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and pulling all the dustcovers off the furniture. "How did I let those two morons convince me that this would be a good idea?" she muttered as she surveyed the cavernous attic.  
  
"We need more light in here," she decided after a moment. Striding toward the end of the garret, she yanked on the heavy cloth that was tacked over the window. After a few hard tugs it came down, releasing with it a huge cloud of dust.  
  
"This is ridiculous!" she exclaimed, sneezing as the dust went in her nose. "I'm getting out of here, grunge is not my style."  
  
But on her way out a piece of furniture caught her eye. It was a chair-a chair that had belonged to her mother. She walked toward it slowly, running her finger over the faded upholstery when she reached it. The familiar texture sent her straight back to long Saturday afternoons spent curled up in this chair with her mother as they flipped through the family picture albums.  
  
Sitting down, she leaned her head against the tall back. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine her mother was sitting there with her, saying, "Come on sweetheart, it is time to look at your family again."  
  
Parker frowned and opened her eyes. Her inner sense was tingling, telling her that was not just a pleasant memory, it was a message. Looking at the boxes around the chair, she saw one marked "Albums." "You always were tricky Mama," she murmured as she dragged the box over to the chair and sat back down.  
  
Pulling the flaps back, she reached blindly into the box and pulled out the first book she laid her hands on. When she saw that it was not an album she almost set it aside, but then the title caught her eye: A Genealogy of the Parker Family. "It is time to look at your family again," she said, repeating her mother's words. Settling back into the chair, she opened the book to the first page and began to read.  
  
She was just reaching the end of the first section when her phone rang. Digging it out of her pocket and flipping it open, she absent-mindedly said, "What?"  
  
"Why Miss Parker, you don't sound like your normal, bitter self," Jarod teased.  
  
"Jarod," she sighed as she closed her eyes against the sneeze she felt tickling her nose. "Do you mind? I'm bu. I'm bu. I'm.--achoo!"  
  
"Are you sick Parker?" he asked, a trace of worry in his voice.  
  
"No I am not sick," she said impatiently. "It is just the dust getting to me."  
  
"Dust?" he repeated after a short pause. "Where are you?"  
  
"Isn't that my line?" she asked snidely.  
  
"Now there is the Parker I know and love," he jibed. "Come on, what are you up to? I thought you were allergic to dirt."  
  
"Well that shows how much you know," she replied loftily only to have the effect ruined by another sneeze. "If you must know," she said over his laughter, "I'm in my father's attic, going through some things of my mother's. Now were you just wondering what I was doing with my Saturday, or did you have some reason for calling?"  
  
"Actually," he said, his voice turning serious again, "I was wondering if you had any idea where your family was around the beginning of the 14th century."  
  
"You have got to be kidding me," she muttered, staring at the page in front of her. "My mother led me to this book so I could help you?"  
  
"What?" Jarod asked, confused by her comment.  
  
"My mother, or rather my inner sense led me to a book on my family history. I just finished the background right before you called."  
  
"What can I say? I have always had excellent timing," he quipped.  
  
"Sure you have," she purred mockingly. "I bet that is what you tell all the girls."  
  
"Parker."  
  
"Fine fine. Sometimes you are no fun, you know that Genius? You know what they say, all work and no play."  
  
"Keeps Jarod alive another day," he finished. "Now where do the Parkers hail from?"  
  
"Dover."  
  
"Dover, England?"  
  
"No, Dover, Delaware," she said, rolling her eyes. "Of course England you idiot."  
  
"You wound me," he ribbed.  
  
Sensing he was about to hang up, she quickly said, "Wait Jarod, there is something you ought to know."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"The longer we go without recovering the scrolls or my. Mr. Parker, the more anxious dear Daddy Raines is to find you. Watch your back," she told him, the words slipping out before she could stop them.  
  
"Why Parker, I didn't know you cared."  
  
"Don't flatter yourself Rat Boy, I just don't want anyone else to have the pleasure of dragging your hide back to the Centre," she said harshly.  
  
"You don't need to worry about that," he said and hung up.  
  
In the Copenhagen airport, Jarod smiled slightly as he slid his phone in his pocket. It might not seem like much, but she was starting to thaw. Maybe by the time all of this was over, they would be ready for something else to begin. 


	7. North Umbria, 1307

A/N I'm sorry for the delay in posting this, there will still be a new chapter on Monday.  
  
Chapter 6: North Umbria; 1307  
  
The knight and the fishermen stood on the shore for a moment, enjoying the feel of solid ground beneath their feet. Winter was settling over the sea and the water was getting rough; both were glad they had reached their destination before it got any worse.  
  
Eli however knew it was not over for him. He still needed to return to Dover before the sea became impassable, which meant he had no time to waste here. "Well Sir Vespas, I think it's time for me to start my return trip. I wish you good luck," he said as he turned back to his boat.  
  
"Eli!" Vespas called out just as the young man was shoving his boat back in the water.  
  
"Yes?" he asked, gazing at him expectantly, ignoring the cold waters of the North Sea that were breaking him, leaving him completely soaked from the knees down.  
  
"Come back here, I have a question for you." When he had obediently trudged back onto the beach, Vespas looked at him up and down, assessing his potential. Finally he said, "Is there anything you want out of life Eli?"  
  
"Excuse me sir?" Eli asked, puzzled by the question.  
  
"What drives you to get up in the morning? What is the one thing you know you want to do?"  
  
Eli looked down at the sand and then back at the knight. "To be honest sir, I've never had much of a choice about what I did. I'm a fisherman because my father is. Even if I was not the youngest in the family, I still would have very little choice."  
  
"But is that what you want?" Vespas pressed.  
  
"I don't know," Eli said with a shrug.  
  
"If you don't know then the answer is no. Would you like to have a purpose, to be a part of a larger plan?"  
  
Excitement mixed with the puzzlement in Eli's expression. "I suppose. I mean, would not we all? But how would that happen?"  
  
At his question, a mysterious smile crossed Vespas' face. "I may have the answers you're looking for right here Eli," he promised, patting the bag that was slung over his shoulder. "But first I need to know if you will come with me."  
  
"Come with you?" Eli repeated. "Where are you going?"  
  
"I'm going to Rosslyn first, and from there I will be going elsewhere in Scotland to start a monastery. If you come with me, I promise you will play an important part in the beginning of my new order."  
  
"I don't want to be a monk sir," Eli said, wrinkling his nose.  
  
"Not as a monk my boy, as part of the destiny. Are you interested?"  
  
He considered for a moment, but really there was no doubt as to what he would choose. He had no life of his own in Dover, even his family did not really care if he was around. They certainly had not put up much of an argument when Vespas had asked if he could accompany him. "I will come," he agreed. "Now what is this destiny you keep talking about?"  
  
In answer, Vespas set his pack down on the sand and tugged a small box out of it. "It is here," he said, handing it to Eli.  
  
Eli took it and opened the lid, looking at a couple of scrolls. "I'm not sure I understand sir," he said.  
  
"Of course you don't Eli," Vespas said. "You're not supposed to. the destiny is meant to be fulfilled by your descendent."  
  
"Then what difference does it make if I come with you?" he asked, his excitement fading as his smile turned to a pout.  
  
Vespas sighed and prayed for patience. "If you don't come with me, your family won't live near my monastery or near the scrolls. The only way for any of this to happen is for you to come with me now. Then you can teach your children about the importance of the Parker family and eventually it will come true." When he saw Eli was wavering, he said, "Remember, Abraham was told he would be the father of a great nation, but when he died he only had two sons. Some of the greatest prophecies take the longest time to fulfill."  
  
"What exactly do these prophecies promise?"  
  
"Power," Vespas said simply. When he saw the gleam in the other man's eye, he smiled to himself. It had begun-soon the first phase of the prophecy would be reality. "So I ask again Eli, will you come with me?"  
  
In answer, Eli picked his bag up out of the boat and turned his back on the sea. "I'm ready," he said, walking alongside the knight as they left the beach. 


	8. Dover, present

Chapter 7: Dover, England; present time  
  
Jarod glanced nervously up and down the busy Dover street before stepping inside the hotel. Even when he'd gone back to Blue Cove he hadn't felt as exposed as he did right now. At least in the Centre environs and surroundings he knew what to expect and how to blend in. Here he felt like a fly that had unwittingly flown straight into a spider's web.  
  
Forcibly pushing those thoughts aside, he approached the desk clerk with a false aura of confidence. "I'd like to check out a room for the night, do you have any vacancies?" he asked the young man.  
  
"We have a single open on the second floor, will that work?"  
  
"That will be fine."  
  
"Your name sir?" the clerk asked.  
  
Jarod had planned to use the last name White in honor of the cliffs the city is famous for, but just as he opened his mouth, Parker's warning came to mind. "Aaron Watson," he said instead, using an assumed name for the first time in his adventures.  
  
"All right Mr. Watson, you will be in room 213. Here is your key, do you need help with your bag?"  
  
"No thank you," Jarod said, tossing his backpack over his shoulder. "I can handle it."  
  
"Then is there anything else I can do for you to make your stay more enjoyable?"  
  
"Actually, I'm here researching my family tree. Is there anywhere that I might find old records dating back to the 14th century?"  
  
"You can try the old church archives or the castle but they didn't keep the best record back then."  
  
"I know, but maybe I'll get lucky," Jarod said.  
  
"Well sir if you have any other questions my name is Matthew. I'll be here all night," the clerk told him.  
  
"Thank you Matthew," Jarod said before walking toward the stairs.  
  
He was walking back down the same steps a few hours later when Matthew called out to him. "Mr. Watson, was your family from Dover?" he asked.  
  
"I believe so, why do you ask Matthew?"  
  
"Well, I just remembered someone who might be able to help you."  
  
"Who is that?"  
  
"Father James, the old priest. He knows more about local history than most of the rest of the city combined. If there's any information available on your family he'll be able to find it."  
  
"Is he at the church right now?" Jarod asked.  
  
"I don't think he ever leaves," Matthew said with a laugh.  
  
"I appreciate your help," Jarod said sincerely.  
  
"It's my pleasure sir. I hope you find what you're looking for."  
  
As Jarod left the hotel, he realized that Matthew was the 3rd person who had wished him good luck in his search. Eric and the librarians had said the exact same thing. "I just hope Father James can help me figure out what it is I'm looking for," he said as he stopped in front of the church, staring up at the stone building before walking inside. "Hello?" he called out. "Is anyone here?"  
  
In answer, a rotund, white haired man came bustling around the corner. "Come in, come in!" he invited cheerily. "No sense in standing in the doorway all day when you have got questions you want answered."  
  
Jarod stared at him uneasily for a minute. "What do you mean?" he asked cautiously, wondering if Matthew had called ahead to inform the priest of his arrival. As much as he hated to be suspicious of him, if he had it was possible he'd also called someone else.  
  
"Questions my boy!" the priest answered. "You've got a question mark written across your face, you have come here looking for answers!"  
  
"Yes, I have," Jarod replied, relaxing slightly. Apparently the old man was just good at reading expressions, and just as apparently his search was written in his.  
  
"Well then, come in and start asking! We do not have all day," the priest joked. "I'm Father James by the way," he added as he led the way back toward the vestibule.  
  
"My name is Aaron Watson," Jarod told him, the strange name coming more readily now.  
  
"It is nice to meet you Aaron, have a seat," Father James offered as he sat down behind the wide mahogany desk, gesturing to the arm chair facing him. "Now, what can I help you with?" he asked once Jarod was seated.  
  
"I'm looking for information on a man who might have come through Dover in the early 14th century," Jarod said. "The clerk at the hotel told me you were the person to ask when it came to town history."  
  
Father James leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him. "Yes yes, I love the history and I've studied it extensively, but there isn't much information going that far back. Many of the old church records were destroyed by Henry VIII, and what wasn't lost then has disappeared in fires and such over the years. Is there anything particular about the man you're looking for that might set him apart from the others?"  
  
"He was a Knight Templar," Jarod said.  
  
He let out a sigh of relief when the other man's back straightened and excitement crossed his face. "Ah, now why didn't you say so? There's still plenty of information available on the activities of the Knights in the area. What is the name of the man you're looking for?" he asked, rising and opening a metal filing cabinet.  
  
"His name was Vespas and I have reason to believe he was only in Dover for a short time. He probably came over from Calais and then continued farther northward, perhaps taking a man by the name of Parker."  
  
"Vespas, Vespas." Father James muttered, flipping through the stacks of folders. "I know that name sounds familiar, so he probably was in Dover at some point. Let me see if I can find his file. Ah! Here it is! 1307, does that sound correct?"  
  
"That adds up with the rest of what I know," Jarod agreed, anticipation tingeing his voice.  
  
"Well let's see what we can find out about Vespas, shall we?" the priest asked as he sat back down and flipped the file open on the desk. "Hm. you were right. He only stayed in town for about a month before leaving. There's no mention here about anyone named Parker though, are you sure of that part of the story?"  
  
"Not completely," Jarod admitted. "But even if he had taken Parker with him, is there any reason that would have been recorded?"  
  
"I suppose not. After all, Vespas was a knight and this Parker was likely what. a shopkeeper? A fisherman? There would have been no reason to include his story."  
  
"I'll just assume there was a Parker with him when he left then."  
  
"Is there anything else you need to know?" Father James asked.  
  
"Does it say anything about where they went?" Jarod asked hopefully.  
  
"Nothing specific, but it does say they were going to Scotland. I'd lay odds that they at least visited Rosslyn Castle on their way up. The keep was built in 1304 and was a common resting point and meeting ground of the Knights of the Military Order of the Temple of Solomon. Not only that, but by 1307 the suppression of the order had already started on the Continent, so many of the Knights who escaped persecution fled northward. They found refuge in Scotland for a good century after the execution of de Molay, the last of the Templar grand masters."  
  
"I'd heard that actually," Jarod said. "Where is Rosslyn, it sounds like that'll be my next stop."  
  
"It isn't far from Edinburgh."  
  
Wonderful. thank you," Jarod said as he rose from his seat.  
  
Father James mirrored his action and moved to the door leading back into the main part of the church. "Did you find the answers you were looking for?" he asked as he ushered Jarod back through the nave to the outside doors.  
  
"Some of them. and some more questions as well."  
  
"Isn't that always the way it works?"  
  
"It seems like it," Jarod answered with a rueful laugh, standing next to the doors. "Well, I appreciate your time, you have been very helpful."  
  
He held out his hand and Father James shook it warmly, saying, "Think nothing of it; I just hope you find the answers you're looking for."  
  
"I'm beginning to wonder if I'm asking the right questions though," Jarod murmured to himself as he walked out of the building. "Instead of understand what the scrolls said, I'm getting a clearer picture of the two men behind the first steps toward the Centre. Well, maybe what I find at Rosslyn will put it all in place," he told himself as he arrived at his hotel.  
  
"Was Father James able to help you Mr. Watson?" Matthew asked as he walked through the lobby.  
  
"I think so, thank you Matthew. I'll be checking out in the morning so I can go follow up on some of the leads he gave me."  
  
"I'll have everything ready for the day clerk then. I hope you enjoy your stay with us." 


	9. Rosslyn Castle, present

A/N: This chapter. eh. I'm still not tremendously happy with it. I had to skip a chapter because the muse just would not cooperate. however, the next chapter is pretty much done, so I'll be posting it shortly. I'm much more happy with it than I am this.  
  
".A marvelous example of Gothic architecture dating from the mid 15th century, Rosslyn Chapel was commissioned by Sir William St. Clair, the last St. Claire Prince of Orkney."  
  
The tour guide's voice droned on as the passengers climbed out of the bus, staring at the impressive Rosslyn Chapel. Jarod followed them, paying no attention to what the guide was saying. His mind was on the short hike ahead of him.  
  
When he had done some research on Rosslyn Castle, he had learned that it was available to let from the Landmark Trust. Crossing his fingers that it was open this week, he had called them up.  
  
"Thank you for calling the Landmark Trust, how may I help you?" a pleasant voice had inquired.  
  
"Hi, I'm interested in renting one of your properties this weekend," he had said.  
  
"Did you have a particular one in mind sir?"  
  
"Yes, Rosslyn Castle."  
  
"Oh, I don't think that will be possible. Rosslyn tends to be booked solid for at least 2 months in advance."  
  
"Can you just check for me?" he had wheedled. If it wasn't open he was at a dead end. There was no way he could risk making reservations two months in advance, eh might as well put out a welcome mat for a sweeper team to be waiting for him.  
  
"I can but I don't think it will do you much good." There was a moment of silence while Jarod could hear the clicking of computer keys on the other end of the line. "Well sir, this is your lucky day," he had said at last.  
  
"It's open?" he had said hopefully.  
  
"Someone just canceled today; it's open for the next week starting on Friday. How long would you like it for?"  
  
"The week will be fine," Jarod told him.  
  
And so here he was, about three miles from the castle with a bag in one hand and the keys in the other. He had been given driving directions from Edinburgh when he had picked up the keys, but he had decided to take the bus to Rosslyn Chapel and hike the rest of the way across the Roslin Glen so he could get a feeling of what Vespas and Parker had experienced seven hundred years ago.  
  
The scenery was beautiful. The terrain was slightly hilly and rocky, so the trees weren't as large and thick as they were in other areas. In the brisk early fall morning it was nice to see the leaves fluttering to the ground in front of him, providing him with a gentle red and gold carpet to walk across. In just a few short months, the trees would all be bare, giving the landscape that barren feeling winter brings, but right now the bloom of summer hadn't fully faded.  
  
After about 30 minutes, he came out of the copse on the other side of the glen, gaining his first view of the castle. It rose magnificently from the small valley, a commanding if slightly weathered presence. The newest part of the building looked to be at least six hundred years old, and he knew that the keep that had existed at the time of Vespas had been built in 1304, just in time to become a refuge for Knights Templar fleeing from persecution in France.  
  
Scotland had never persecuted the order as the rest of Europe had. Indeed, according to legend it was a group on Knights Templar that helped Robert the Bruce win the battle of Bannockburn in 1314, seven years after King Phillip IV of France had arrested knights in his country in October of 1307.  
  
But even earlier than that, a year before the keep had been built, a battle in the war for Scottish independence had been fought in this very glen. In 1303, William Wallace, Henry St. Clair, and others had successfully sent the English packing. Afterwards Henry was able to marry Margaret Ramsey, and together they began to construct their new home.  
  
Yes, this area was rich with history of all kinds-Scottish, Templars-were there hints here as to his own history? That was what he was here to find out. Drawing a deep breath, he walked up the causeway to the door, stuck the key in the lock, and opened it with a loud creak of the old hinges.  
  
The inside was beautiful, clearly refurbished by the Landmark Trust. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and chose one of the nicely appointed guest rooms, decorated in forest greens and muted shades of burgundy. "Maybe I'll find the answers I'm looking for here," he said as he walked downstairs, heading toward the kitchen.  
  
He ran his finger down the grey marble countertop as he took in the modernizations that had been done. The appliances were all new, but had been chosen carefully to blend into the beautiful golden oak cabinetry.  
  
"This is nice, very nice," he said approvingly as he opened the door leading into the dining room. Like the kitchen, it too had been modified while still retaining a classic feel. Here the addition was floor to ceiling windows that gave the room an airy feel despite the dark wainscoting and Queen Anne style furniture.  
  
"So I've found the kitchen and the dining room, now where is the library?" he wondered as he moved down the hallway. The first door he opened led to the butler's pantry and the second to a small salon. "This one must be it then," he said, facing the last door.  
  
When he opened the door he found himself in a bibliophile's dream land. The massive room was wall to wall shelving with the exception of the windows on the opposite wall and the fireplace to his right. "I'm glad that what I'm looking for will be considerably older than anything else in here, or it would be impossible to find."  
  
He briefly debated the value of getting right to work, but a quick glance at his watch told him it was time to eat lunch. "There's no point in getting started only to have to stop for a break," he said as he walked back to the kitchen.  
  
Going back toward the kitchen, he opened the well-stocked refrigerator once more and stared at the contents. There was all sorts of food inside, but not much of it really appealed to the junk food aficionado. Shutting it and opening the freezer, his eyes lit up when he saw what was inside. Frozen pizzas filled the space that wasn't taken up by ice cream.  
  
Choosing to actually eat before having desert, he grabbed one of the pizzas and turned the oven on to eat while he went upstairs to take a shower. The short bus ride and walk through the valley had given him a slightly grungy look and he decided to take the opportunity to shower before eating and studying.  
  
Thirty minutes later he was pulling a steaming pizza out of the oven, breathing in its heavenly aroma. Setting it down on the wooden bread board, he grabbed a knife and cut it into pieces. Picking one up, he carried it back towards the door to the part of the house that he hadn't investigated yet.  
  
Opening it, he found himself in the formal living room, which was also done in period furniture. A Steinway grand piano dominated the space at the other end of the room. The Trust had apparently chosen to leave the architecture in this room as they found it, for the windows were small and fairly high off the ground, designed to protect the inhabitants from oncoming arrows. The walls were still the original cold, grey stone he had seen from the outside as well, it gave the room a feeling of antiquity that the rest of the castle didn't really have.  
  
Swallowing the last of his pizza, he went back into the kitchen to wash his hands before getting to work. He didn't want to think about the astronomical fees he would have to pay if he ruined any of the old books by getting pizza grease on them.  
  
"Where should I start?" he asked himself as he walked back into the library. "There is no way to tell how things are organized, if they even are organized at all. I guess I will just take it one section at a time, starting here," he decided, turning to his left.  
  
A quick survey of the first four foot section of shelves revealed that it was entirely poetry. While the volumes of Byron and Tennyson looked beautiful, they weren't what he was looking for. Next he came across literature and drama, including the complete works of Shakespeare. He mentally marked that as something to come back to if he found what he was looking for before the end of the week and had time to do some actual relaxation. A wry smile crossed his face as he realized that in the last seven years being hunted by the Centre he had forgotten what relaxation was. Actually, come to think of it he had never really known. They had certainly never given him a vacation when he had lived there. "Well that is something to put on my to do list after the Centre is gone," he said with a chuckle.  
  
Continuing on around the room, he found several translations of the Bible, some of which must have come from the Chapel as they were replaced by newer models. There were also books on architecture and aerospace dynamics that seemed vaguely interesting.  
  
"Ah, now here is what we're looking for," he said as he examined the first section of books on the wall opposite the door. "These are the general history books, then the next section is Scottish history, and these," he said as he looked at the center section of shelves, "are books on the Roslin area. If what I'm looking for is here, this is where it will be."  
  
He looked the whole section over and saw nothing that would help him. There were several memoirs of various Earls and their ladies. There were books of maps of the castle and the surrounding glen. One book appeared to be a detailed account of the construction of the chapel from the son of William St. Clair, but there was nothing on the Knights Templar at all. Refusing to believe it wasn't there, he started looking again, but a second look yielded no further results.  
  
"This is not possible," he muttered "I didn't come all the way here for it to be a dead end. What am I missing?" he asked as he stepped back to take another look at the section.  
  
He was about to give up when he saw several books that appeared to be sticking out from the shelf just a bit. "Is there something behind them?" he wondered aloud. Grabbing a wooden chair to stand on, he peeked over the tops of the books, his heart pounding in anticipation. Sticking his fingers behind the books, he felt a slim volume that had slipped behind the other books when they had been shoved back on the shelf. He pulled it down, got off the chair, and sat down in one of the two comfortable wingback chairs that flanked the fireplace. Glancing at the window, he realized it was late afternoon and the stone castle would be getting drafty and chilly soon, so he set the book down on the table beside him, rose from the chair, went to the fireplace, and turned on the automatic gas ignition. Apparently even things that were original to the building could be modernized.  
  
Once the blaze was going, he sat down once more and picked up the book. The cover was leather, probably deer hide, and the pages of the book itself were bound to the cover by long pieces of hide that wove through the leaves of the book and out the back cover, back through the pages and through the front cover, all repeated several times to almost give it the appearance of a spiral bound notebook.  
  
Opening to the first page, he discovered that the paper was yellowed and brittle with age. The excitement that he had kept bottled up for the last few minutes started to rise. Flipping through the pages quickly, he realized it was written in a combination of Gaelic and Latin, which dated it even more. Turning back to the first page, he started reading, soon caught up in the story that was being related across the years.  
  
It was an odd little book, a combination log/journal. Apparently certain Knights who had stayed at the castle had kept the journal, passing it on to those who came after them, trying to preserve the knowledge and heritage of the order. There was an account of the Battle of Roslin and the building of the current keep toward the beginning, and the book ended with a short entry by William St. Clair on his decision to build the chapel on what had become hallowed ground for Scots.  
  
Each entry gave a different insight into the culture of the day and as such were interesting in their own right, but Jarod wasn't there on a history project. He was there looking for something in particular-mention of the scrolls. About a third of the way through he found what he was looking for- entries by Vespas, dated the winter of 1307-1308. Tuning out everything around him, he began to read in earnest.  
  
"December 8, 1307  
  
Eli and I have been at Rosslyn for almost a month. The weather has grown cold and wet, and I'm very glad I decided to winter here instead of pushing farther north. Also, this gives me an excellent opportunity to gather others of my order to my purpose. I plan to take the next few months to watch them carefully to see who might be interested in protecting the prophecies of the scrolls with me."  
  
Jarod shook his head. He had set out from the very beginning to create a secret society that would keep the evil alive to come true another day. How could such a man have actually founded a monastery? Weren't monasteries supposed to be places of holiness and learning, not power-lust and evil? Pushing his thoughts aside for now, he continued on.  
  
"February 20, 1308  
  
As of today, I have eight fellow knights pledged to join me in my new order. I haven't yet told them what our true mission is, but I will soon. Each of them was chosen specifically for the glint of ruthless ambition lurking in their eyes, and I know they will be more than willing to help me carry out the prophecy laid out in the scrolls.  
  
I have also learned where we might go. Today while I was lounging in the hall after supper, I overheard a few men speaking of an island off the north coast, near the Orkneys and the Shetlands. It is called Carthis, and it's cold and wet, but beautiful at the same time. The people there are hungry for a man of God to stay with them year around instead of only visiting once a month during the summers. I will be that man.  
  
The small island will be the perfect incubator for the kind of power that the scrolls indicate. As time passes, the truth of their existence will pass into legend, and the legend into folklore. The entire mythos of the island will be wrapped up in their fulfillment, and then in the course of time, a Parker will be born who will find the truth hidden in the fairy tale.  
  
"March 31, 1308  
  
I read through the scrolls once more today, reveling as always in the thrill of power that rushes through me whenever I see the words. "The Centre will rise." It will rise, and it will be held in awe and fear- nothing can stop that from happening.  
  
But what concerns me, what I saw this time that I had passed over before, is what will happen next. True, the Centre will rise, and yes it will be truly fearsome. But according to the scrolls, that is not the end of the story. No, the prophecy continues with mention of two who will join together to destroy the Centre. One will be a mere boy, the other the seed of the Parker line.  
  
These two, this traitorous Parker and the young Jarod, they must be stopped. They must not be allowed to fulfill their own destiny, for in doing so they will surely destroy my own.  
  
And now it's late, so I will lay down this journal and go to sleep. The annals of Rosslyn Castle should be a safe place to leave a brief part of this saga, as I'm sure the only ones who will ever be allowed to read it will be those sympathetic to the Knights Templar."  
  
Jarod leaned back in his chair, amazed at what he had just read. Every bit of the story Ocee had told them about the scrolls had been engineered by the original monks to generate interest in them. It was all part of a grand manipulation to assure the eventual rise of the Centre.  
  
However, his biggest question remained unanswered. What did the scrolls say? Why did Mr. Parker jump from the plane after he read them, saying it was time to stop the Parker madness that had created the Centre, the place that he had devoted his life to building and protecting? What did they say about him, what role did he play in this drama?  
  
"Maybe I'll never know the answers to those questions. maybe I don't need to," he mused, staring into the fire. "Really, the letter from Addecius and this last journal entry tell me all I need to know. I will take down the Centre, and Parker will help me. It's time to go home." 


	10. Carthis, 1900

Carthis, 1900  
  
"Ezra! Come here for a moment," James Parker called out to his eldest son.  
  
"Yes Father?" the 18 year old man said respectfully.  
  
The older man stared at his son, obviously pondering a great weight. "Let's take a walk, shall we?" he suggested, grabbing his coat to guard against the cool Highland breeze.  
  
Ezra obediently followed suit, falling in step next to his father. After a few minutes of silence, he spoke again. "Do you like Carthis?" he asked.  
  
Ezra stared at him for a minute, surprised by the question. "Sir?" he asked hesitantly.  
  
"You can answer honestly, son," James said reassuringly.  
  
"Well. it is not that I don't like it sir. But it is so very far away from everything. I want to do something besides." he trailed off, realizing that what he was about to say might sound disrespectful.  
  
"Besides be a crypt keeper?" James finished for him. "Don't worry, I know exactly how you feel. When I was your age, it was the same for me."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really. And when I was 18, just like you are now, my father took me aside and told me one of the greatest family secrets."  
  
"What kind of secret?" Ezra asked eagerly, liking the slight feel of intrigue he was sensing.  
  
But James frowned at his excitement, hoping to remind Ezra that this was serious. "Son, what I'm about to tell you can never be repeated to anyone outside the family. It is a secret, a secret as old as our history on Carthis itself. Do you understand?"  
  
Ezra nodded solemnly. "Of course Father. I'm sorry if I didn't seem to be taking this seriously enough, it is just new for me."  
  
James' face relaxed slightly. "I know it is son, just remember how important it is. The Parker's play a very unique role in the Vespasian legacy."  
  
"I don't understand Father," Ezra interrupted. "We're just the crypt keepers."  
  
"That is all we are right now Ezra, but it is not all we are destined to be. We have a destiny that goes beyond our vocation."  
  
"You're confusing me Father."  
  
"It is a prophecy that was made six hundred years ago, one that has been passed down through every generation."  
  
Disappointment shadowed Ezra's face. "Oh," he said dully, wondering if his father knew what he was talking about.  
  
"Don't be so discouraged!" James rebuked. "We are destined for great power son, an ability to change and control humanity itself."  
  
Suddenly interest reappeared on the younger Parker's face. "Power?" he repeated.  
  
"Yes, power."  
  
"What do you mean? How are we going to get this power?"  
  
"I have told you almost all that I can son. The rest of the answers can be found in the scrolls."  
  
"And where are the scrolls?"  
  
"Ah, now that is the question. The scrolls were brought to Carthis by the original Vespasian brothers six hundred years ago, just after the Knights of the Military Order of the Temple of Solomon were disbanded in Europe. The brothers hid them on the'sland, knowing people would come looking for the secret knowledge of the knights and not wanting it to fall into the wrong hands."  
  
"And no one has seen them since?"  
  
"No. No Parker has ever seen them."  
  
"Then how are we supposed to fulfill this destiny?"  
  
"Vespas gave only one clue as to the scrolls resting place. He said that the one who found the scrolls would gain absolution from his sins."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
Finally James sent his son an exasperated look. "If I knew that, I would have found them years ago and we wouldn't be having this conversation."  
  
"I'm sorry Father," Ezra said contritely.  
  
"It is all right son. But I'm counting on you to be the one to fulfill the Parker destiny."  
  
Carthis, 1908  
  
It had been eight years since Ezra had first learned about the scrolls. He had had little time to search for them while working his land and learning the crypt keeper's trade from his father. But his father had recently died and he was now free to spend a good chunk of his time on the search.  
  
For weeks the search had yielded nothing. All the monks had heard of the scrolls, but they were decidedly tight-lipped about them. It was unlikely any of them actually knew where they were, but still the only answer he could get out of them was that it is the task of the Vespasian monks to protect the scrolls. It made him want to scream in frustration, "But I'm the one who is supposed to make them come true, you don't have to keep them from me!!" Somehow though he knew that wouldn't really help his case any.  
  
Then one sunny August day he was absently going through the monastery archives. He was doubtful that he would find anything new, but it was the only place he could find any information. Despite the monks' reticence to help him, they had grudgingly allowed him access and he was making use of it.  
  
After hours of sifting through papers and dusty old books, he was ready to give up-not only on the archives but on the search altogether. If the scrolls had ever existed, they had been hidden so well that no one could possibly find them after six hundred years of secrets. With a resigned sigh, he rose from his kneeling place on the floor, intent on going home.  
  
That was when he found it. There, nestled between two books and shoved toward the back of the shelf was what looked to be an old letter box. His curiosity aroused, he pulled it off the shelf and sat down on the floor once more to open it.  
  
The first letter he found set his heart pounding. It was dated 1347, less than 40 years after the monastery had been established. Not only that, it was addressed to the bishop in Glasgow and signed by Vespas himself.  
  
With trembling fingers he sifted through the rest of the papers in the box. Something inside him told him that if was going to find whatever it was he was looking for, it would be here.  
  
When his fingers touched the bottom piece of paper, a tingle ran up his spine. This was it, he knew it. Pulling it out of the box, he started to read it, struggling to translate the Latin.  
  
"To the Parker heir," it began,  
  
"This letter is written to the one who will find the scrolls. In finding this letter, you're already halfway there. Many of your ancestors have tried and failed. Now I will give you the final key you need to unlocking the mystery of the scrolls.  
  
From a line of goodness, the evil shall rise To that which hallowed vellum prophesies From their words will his power flow And right from confession his strength shall grow  
  
Once you find the meaning of the riddle, you will find the scrolls themselves.  
  
Vespas"  
  
Ezra stared at the riddle, his brow creased in puzzlement. What on earth could it mean? Suddenly he realized that the little room which had earlier been alight with sunshine was growing dark. Glancing outside, he saw that the sun was well across the midday sky, indicating that it was time to hurry home to his wife for supper. Shoving the paper into his pocket, he carefully placed the box back in its place on the shelf and left the small room. There would be time to work on the riddle later.  
  
Over the next few months, Ezra spent every moment of his spare time working with the riddle. The lines about the scrolls giving power were easy to decipher, but somehow he knew the clue was in the final line, the one talking about confession. He knew it was there, but he couldn't figure out what it meant.  
  
Then one day he was looking at it for what seemed like the millionth time and it all fell into place. His father's clue had been that the one who fulfilled the scrolls would receive absolution from his sins. The clue Vespas had left talked about confession. The scrolls must be hidden in or near a confessional.  
  
Amazed not only that he had finally unraveled the mystery but that it had taken him two months to do so, Ezra simply leaned back in his seat, unable to speak. This was it, he was so close he could taste victory at last.  
  
There was one problem remaining however-there were multiple churches on the'sland, how was he going to figure out which one hid the scrolls? That was a problem for tomorrow though, today he was going to bask in the sweet feeling of success he felt from surmounting the highest hurdle.  
  
Finding the church turned out to be more difficult than he had thought. The first place he had looked had been the monastery chapel. He had spent a whole week there, going over every stone in the confessional wall and in the wall of the building around it. Several times he thought he had found a crack that might lead to a secret chamber, only to be disappointed.  
  
Then he looked into the two other churches on the'sland. One of them was too new to be the one spoken of in the riddle. That left only one possibility-the Chapel of Souls.  
  
It made sense when he started to think about it. Legend had it that the knights had brought the scrolls with them to Carthis despite orders or against the will of God. They had given up their own souls to preserve the prophecies contained within, and then they had hidden them in a Chapel of Souls that could also protect the mysteries.  
  
On October 27th, he began truly looking in earnest. His first question was if the confessional was original-a short talk with one of the monks and a close examination showed that it was. Then he started running his fingers over the walls, searching for a secret hiding place. Inside the booth itself, he closely examined the small bench, wondering if perchance there was a hiding place beneath it. Indeed, the bench was hollow, but it was also empty.  
  
For two days he spent nearly every waking hour in the Chapel, going over every inch of it with a fine tooth comb, and yet he found nothing. Then on the third day his luck changed.  
  
He had decided to take a step back and look at the area of the chapel as a whole. While sitting there, he pulled out the riddle and examined it once more. This time he noted the use of the word right in the last line of the riddle. Perhaps that was a clue within a clue, and he should look on the right hand side of the booth.  
  
Moving in, he realized that he had never thought about the floor. Kneeling on the ground to the right of the confessional, he perused every crack, looking for a trap door or a loose stone. Finally after three hours he found something promising.  
  
Sticking his fingers in the small crack, he slowly pulled a stone out of the ground. It was hard work, and for one brief moment he thought about asking someone to help him, but then he brushed it off, wanting to keep the secret of the scrolls to himself.  
  
With a final heave, he pulled the stone up and set it down on the floor next to him. Grabbing a torch from one of the sconces on the side of the nave, he peered down into the hole. What he saw amazed him.  
  
There was indeed a little cubby down there, less than six feet squared. Inside the tiny room was a oaken box, the wood having a golden patina that comes with age. Lowering himself into the hole, he lifted the box with shaking fingers and placed it up on the floor of the chapel. Then he pulled himself up beside it and opened it up.  
  
There they were-the scrolls that were his destiny. Opening it up, he was surprised to see that it had been written in Old English, not Latin. Well, that would make his life easier.  
  
As much as he wanted to read the scrolls right now, a quick look out the window confirmed that it was time to go home before someone started wondering where he was. Quickly lowering the stone back into its resting place, he gathered the scrolls in his arms and headed home, depositing them in the barn while he went inside for dinner.  
  
It was hours before he managed to get back out to the barn to read the scrolls. In the dark of night with only the flickering light of the lamp driving away the shadows, the prophecies began to work their power, transforming future into present. A man who had once been loving and kind became even more obsessed with the promises mentioned in the scrolls.  
  
"So it is true," he whispered to himself as he read the last line. "I'm destined to build the Centre, to achieve greatness."  
  
He frowned as something else occurred to him. "But what of this terrible price that is mentioned? Do I really want to risk.?"  
  
He paused to think for a moment about the world the knight had lived in. At that time, everything had been seen has having some sort of unseen spiritual effect, even the manner in which one dressed. Perhaps this warning was something Addecius had believed to be true, but it was not something he needed to worry about. That had to be the case he decided. After all, it was about time he caught a lucky break without there being any strings attached.  
  
Ezra could hardly wait until morning to tell his wife about this. Surely she would be as happy as he was. Somehow though, this was not the case.  
  
"Elizabeth, don't you see?" he asked, surprised that she just did not seem to get it. "This is our chance to make a name for ourselves, to finally get away from Carthis."  
  
"And why would you want to get away from Carthis Ezra? This is our home, we were both born here," she reminded him, gesturing broadly as if to encompass the entire island in her embrace.  
  
"Don't you want something different, something new?" he argued, pressing her for an answer.  
  
"No," she said flatly.  
  
"And what about the prestige that would come if we were able to build the Centre?"  
  
"Power and prestige are meaningless if they are all you want Ezra. You need to have more in your life than that, or you will be destroyed slowly from the inside out."  
  
He finally gave up, realizing she was not going to change her mind right now. "Think about it and we will talk about it again tomorrow," he told her and walked out of the house.  
  
Ezra went about his daily chores, pretending like nothing had changed. Inside however he was a very different man, and this came out once again when he went to the barn after supper to look at the scrolls again.  
  
As he re-read them, a devious smile crossed his face. "I will have all the power I ever wanted," he murmured. "Power to change things, to change people, even power to control people. yes, it is exactly what I always wanted."  
  
But tonight his transformation was witnessed by someone else-his eight year old daughter Angel. "Papa is scaring me," she whispered as she saw the darkness creep across the face she loved so much. "Those papers are making him different. I want my Papa back."  
  
Determined that she was doing the right thing, she waited until he had returned to the house, gathered the scrolls up in her arms, and took them to her room where she hid them in her little cubby where she kept her doll so her older brother wouldn't hurt it. Covering it back up, she crawled into bed and fell fast asleep.  
  
The next day after she had done her chores, she came back in the house to hear screaming. "What have you done with them?" her father roared, fury blazing from his eyes.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about!" her mother replied defiantly.  
  
"I'm sure you don't! I'm talking about the scrolls you miserable, ungrateful hag! I offered you all the things you could ever want in the world and your thanks is to take the scrolls from me to keep it from happening!"  
  
"All I ever wanted was your love," she retorted. "If you honored me half as much as you do those old rags of yours, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now!"  
  
The next sound the little girl heard was that of flesh hitting flesh. "Is that what you told yourself?" he said, his voice dangerously low. "Did you think that if you got rid of the scrolls that I would love you more? You fool! Now that I know what you're really like you couldn't pay me to love you!"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about Ezra!" she pleaded. "I didn't take the scrolls from you, I didn't!"  
  
"Liar! Where did you put them?" he demanded, hitting her again.  
  
"I didn't. I don't know," she whimpered.  
  
"Then you will just have to pay," he snarled and began beating her. again, and again, and again, until the only sound Angel could hear was the soft sobs coming from her limp form.  
  
Finally he stopped and stared down at where she lay huddled into a ball on the floor. "You disgust me," he said harshly, walking out of the house and slamming the door shut behind him.  
  
Slowly Angel left her hiding place. "Are you all right Mama?" she asked tentatively, the fright evident in her voice.  
  
"Little one!" her mother exclaimed, using her own pet name for her daughter. "How long were you standing there?"  
  
"Papa hurt you Mama," the little girl whispered, clinging to her mother.  
  
"Oh my poor baby. your papa's not the same anymore, he's changing on the inside."  
  
"It was the scrolls, was not it Mama? That is what made him hit you."  
  
"Yes baby it was. wait, what do you know about the scrolls?"  
  
"I saw Papa reading them last night. They put a mean look on his face so I took them."  
  
Elizabeth reached a trembling hand up to stroke her daughter's face. "You're a very brave little girl. Do you think you can do one more brave thing for Mama?" she asked.  
  
"What is it Mama?"  
  
"Can you hide the scrolls somewhere that Papa will never find them again?"  
  
"Will it make him love us again?" she asked, the insecurity shining from her eyes.  
  
The question brought fresh tears to the mother's eyes, and she drew the little girl close to her heart. "I don't know baby, I don't know. but maybe it will at least help him be a better man, more like he used to be."  
  
"Okay Mama, I will do it," Angel answered, standing up and going to her room.  
  
When she got there, she paused for a moment before getting the scrolls out. Something told her this evening would have a bad ending. She needed Father Theo's help. Getting out her pad and pencil, she drew a sketch of herself holding her doll. Then she grabbed both the doll and the scrolls and moved toward the monastery as fast as her little legs could carry her.  
  
"Hello Miss Parker," Father Theo said kindly when she approached him at the confessional. "What are you doing out so late tonight?"  
  
"I'm here for confession," she told him softly.  
  
"And what do you need to confess that drives such a little thing from her bed?" he asked, an eyebrow quirked up in amusement-amusement which vanished when she answered him.  
  
"It is not me," she told him. "It is Papa."  
  
"What has Papa done?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.  
  
"He's found the scrolls," she said softly.  
  
A feeling of dread spread from the pit of his stomach to the rest of his body. "The scrolls?"  
  
"The ones with evil things written on them," she explained, giving him the answer he had known she would.  
  
"How do you know he found them?"  
  
"Because I saw him with them."  
  
"What was he like when you saw him?"  
  
"He was mean and angry," she said, confirming his fears. Now to ask a question he wished he didn't have to.  
  
"Does he still have them?"  
  
"No, I stole them. I hid them someplace special, now I need you to hide the clues so he won't find them."  
  
"What about you Miss Parker? Are you carrying something?"  
  
"It is my doll and a pretty little pouch, and a picture I drew of myself. They're to remember me by," she said with a sweet smile on her face that made him sick to his stomach. He knew what she meant, he just hoped she was not right.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Just hide the scrolls, remember Father Theo."  
  
"I will Miss Parker, I will," he said solemnly, taking the little leather pouch from her and setting the doll down gently on his desk. "Now you get home and go to bed, it is past your bedtime," he admonished.  
  
After she left he stared at the pouch, wondering where he could hide it. A perfect place occurred to him-the reliquary beneath the altar. Hurrying down the stairs, he opened it up and slipped the pouch inside. Then he went back upstairs and placed the key to the ancient lock inside little Miss Parker's doll.  
  
When he was done, he sat there for a moment, debating. Finally his conscience could take it no longer and he began to write. He was just getting to the good part of the story when he heard something downstairs. Hastily folding the letter and slipping it inside the binding of his Bible, he stitched the cover together and turned toward the door just in time to see Ezra Parker come storming in.  
  
"What can I do for you Ezra?" he said, his congenial tone belying the pounding of his heart.  
  
"Don't you play innocent with me too old man. I know she's been here," Ezra growled.  
  
"Who do you mean?"  
  
"You know exactly who I mean. That little brat of a daughter of mine. She came to you with the scrolls, hoping you would hide them for her. Well she won't be any problem to me anymore, and now you're going to hand them over so her plan will fail anyway."  
  
"What have you done?" the priest asked, appalled.  
  
"I have only done what had to be done to make sure my destiny was fulfilled," he said dismissively. "Now where are they?"  
  
"If you think I would give them to you after what you have done, after seeing the person the scrolls are turning you into, you're wrong," Theo said defiantly. "Your daughter gave them to me hoping that it would save you from yourself. I'm not going to let her down, even if I ca not save her."  
  
"If you don't tell me old man, it will be the last secret you keep," Ezra threatened.  
  
"Then I will go to the grave keeping it," Theo said determinedly, rising from his seat and staring down the other man.  
  
Ezra held his gaze for a long moment, waiting for him to flinch. When he saw that the priest was serious, he shrugged and said, "As you wish. here, let me help you out there." With a mighty shove, he pushed the priest out the window. Turning from the scene, he walked out of the church without a backwards glance. Two hours later he left the island of his birth, the night sky still lit up with the flames dancing around his house. 


	11. Blue Cove, present

Chapter 11: Blue Cove, Delaware; present time  
  
Parker surveyed the attic with a measure of satisfaction. It had taken her almost two whole Saturdays, but the room was nearly under control. Most of the dust was gone, thanks to industrial strength cleaner and no small amount of elbow grease. That had been the first task after she had decided she was actually going to do this. If she was going to spend any amount of time in here, the dust had to go.  
  
In the middle of the room were three neatly separated piles of things: one to keep, one for the Goodwill, and one of trash. It had been hard for her to decide what to keep. Some things were obvious: her mother's chair and school papers and a good deal of her own baby clothes. After some decision, most of her own school papers went in the trash pile, except for report cards and test scores. Of course she kept the photo albums, but it had been harder to sort through the rest of the books. Eventually she decided to save those for a later date when she could take the time to look through each of them individually and keep the ones she wanted.  
  
A good chunk of the furniture would be donated to the Goodwill, as well as boxes of linens that she had had laundered. Most of it was old and outdated, but still serviceable. There were even a few old-fashioned articles of clothing that might make good Halloween costumes.  
  
Once the useable items had been boxed up and placed in her car, all that remained were a few broken pieces of furniture and lamps. Grabbing a large lawn and leaf bag, Parker loaded up what would fit and hauled it down the stairs, making a few more trips to carry the heavier items. She placed it all in the garage by the trash can, ready to be taken out next weekend.  
  
When she stepped back into the attic, she took a quick look around to make sure she had gotten everything. Nothing; the attic was clean. "Maybe now Syd will get off my back," she muttered without any true animosity. The truth was, she appreciated that the older man cared enough to pester her. It was irritating as hell, but it showed genuine concern. The only thing her father-either of them-had ever bothered her about was when she was going to catch Jarod. Honestly, she wasn't sure she even wanted to catch him anymore, but there was no way she was going to tell anyone else that. She cared more about her life than that.  
  
Before leaving, she decided to take one last look out the window. In the last few weeks she had grown to love the view she could see from up here, it reminded her of simpler times. She was almost there when she felt a floorboard shift beneath her weight. "What the hell?" she mumbled, kneeling down to see what was going on. Running her fingers along the crack between the boards, she felt one loosen slightly. Tugging on it, she suddenly found herself sitting on the floor, staring into a small cubby hole. Inside it lay a smallish, old, carved wooden box. Pulling it out of its hiding place, she worked the latches until she could get it to open.  
  
Inside were two journals. One had a penciled title of A History of the Parkers on The Isle of Carthis and the other was labeled simply as "The Personal Journal of Ezra Parker." Parker stared at the latter for a moment. Ezra was her great grandfather's name-the man who had murdered his own family and then founded the Centre.  
  
After a moment of hesitation she lifted the journal out of the box and started down the stairs. She had every intention of reading it, but something told her the words would sit better if consumed with copious amounts of scotch.  
  
On the way home however her confidence diminished. Did she really want to read it? This was the journal of the evil patriarch of her family, the one who had started the whole sordid history. When she walked in the door, she set the book down on the sofa table and headed upstairs for a shower. "I'm all dusty," she told herself. "I need to clean up before I can do anything else."  
  
An hour later, clean and dressed in comfortable clothes, she went into the kitchen for a late lunch. "I haven't eaten since 8:00 this morning, I would never be able to concentrate on the book anyway," she insisted when her mind told her she was making up excuses.  
  
But around 4:00 when she was done eating, all her stalling tactics were used up. Wandering back into the family room, she slowly lit a fire against the growing chill of the autumn evening. When she had a strong blaze going, she rose to her feet and looked at the book warily. "I guess it is time," she said reluctantly as she pulled out a glass and a bottle of scotch. Pouring herself a glass and setting the bottle on the table in front of her, she began to read.  
  
"September 5, 1900  
  
Today my father took me aside, telling me he had a family secret to pass on. He said that his father had told him in his 18th year, and he in turn was telling me. "Son," he said, his voice more solemn than I had ever heard, "What I'm about to tell you can never be repeated to anyone outside of the family. It is a secret, a secret as old as our history on Carthis itself. Do you understand?" Of course I told him, how difficult could it be to understand the concept of a secret?  
  
"The Parkers play a very unique role in the Vespasian legacy," he said. Here I broke in; after all, how unique was it to be the crypt keepers to a monastery? But he said that was not what he was talking about at all. "No Ezra, we have a destiny that goes far beyond our vocation. It is a prophecy that was made 600 years ago, one that has been passed down through every generation."  
  
I scoffed slightly at this, after all how could a 600 year old prophecy have anything to do with my life today? But he continued, ignoring the skeptical look on my face. "We are destined for great power son, an ability to change and control humanity itself."  
  
At the mention of power I grew more interested. Here was something I could understand, something I thirsted for. I asked him what he meant, how we would get this power, but he couldn't say anything more. "All I know is what I've told you. The rest of the answers can be found in the scrolls," he told me. But then he went on to say that the scrolls themselves had been hidden by Vespas himself, and that no Parker had managed to find them.  
  
"Then how are we supposed to fulfill this destiny?" I asked. He told me that Vespas had only said that the one who found the scrolls would gain absolution from his sins.  
  
I decided then and there that I would be the one to find the scrolls. I would decipher the message. I would fulfill the destiny."  
  
Parker shuddered at the power-hungry voice that echoed across the pages. It was hard to believe this man was related to her, even harder to believe that eventually he succeeded in his goal. Taking a sip of the scotch, she skipped over a few pages and continued.  
  
"May 17, 1908  
  
My father's funeral was today. As I sat there with my wife and our young family, my mind drifted back to the day he had told me about the scrolls. In the years since, I had found little opportunity to search for them, always kept busy with my land and helping my father in his increasingly arduous task of crypt keeper.  
  
But now I'm truly my own man, I can make the time to do the exploring I want to do. I've been repeating Vespas' riddle over and over, the clue seemingly obvious and yet just out of reach. I want to figure it out, I will be the one to find the scrolls. Five years hasn't diminished my resolve, if anything it has strengthened it.  
  
I will succeed within the year, I vow it on my father's grave."  
  
Parker took a large swallow of the smooth, amber drink, shaking her head at the audacity of the man. "His father's grave was still warm, and all he could think about was power," she muttered. An image of her own father, standing outside the house where his wife had died, too concerned with business to even ask if he had a son or daughter crossed her mind and she downed the glass, pouring herself another as she turned to the next entry.  
  
"August 4, 1908  
  
This week while going through the archives once more, I found an old letter box that had belonged to the monks who built the monastery. Within in lay the final piece to the puzzle-a riddle from Vespas himself leaving clues as to the location of the scrolls.  
  
From a line of goodness, the evil shall rise To that which hallowed vellum prophesies From their words will his power flow And right from confession his strength shall grow  
  
This is it, I know it. I need only to decipher the meaning behind this poem and I will finally have in my possession all that I need to change my life for the better."  
  
Parker stared at the four lines for a moment, her scotch momentarily forgotten as she tried to unravel the secrets they held. When nothing came to her, she shrugged, turning the page to the next entry. Her great- grandfather had apparently figured it out, that was all that mattered at the moment.  
  
"October 20, 1908  
  
I've finally deciphered the riddle. Once I did, I couldn't believe I hadn't realized it is meaning before, it is so clear now. Clearly, the scrolls must be hidden near a confessional. Now I need only discover which of the island churches and chapels it is referring to, and then actually find the scrolls themselves. I'm so close I can almost taste the victory."  
  
"I'm sure you could," Parker muttered. "Too bad you didn't have your very own Wonderboy around to foul you up every time you got that close, our family history might have turned out much different." The next entry was equally ebullient.  
  
"October 29, 1908  
  
At last! This morning, I laid eyes on the scrolls, the first time they had seen the open air in almost 600 years. Once I thought about the time line properly, it was obvious there was only one church they could be hidden in. Only the Chapel of Souls had been here long enough to be the hiding place. In fact, as I remember the story, Vespas himself designed the building, giving him ample opportunity to secure a hiding place.  
  
I stood in front of the old confessional for what seemed like hours, my eyes going over every inch of it, searching for a hiding place. When I realized all my staring was not getting my any closer to finding the scrolls, I then re-examined the riddle: "And right from confession." Perhaps it was a riddle hidden within the riddle, and the scrolls were secreted somewhere to the right of the confessional. Praying that my guess was correct, I began to secretly explore the area to the right of the small booth. It took me a few days, but I finally discovered a cleverly hidden trap door in the floor, leading to a shallow room.  
  
As I lowered myself into the chamber, a sense of history, of destiny flooded through me. The last person to be in this place was Vespas himself, and he had left something here for me. I knew then that I was the one who was meant to find the scrolls from the very moment the prophecy had been written.  
  
The room itself was only about six feet square, small enough that he and his eight fellow warrior monks would have been able to do the work in one night without anyone else being the wiser. And there in the center of the room lay a shallow wooden box. I lifted the lid with trembling hands and for the first time beheld the scrolls with my own eyes.  
  
At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to read every word they said, to finally understand what they meant for me. However, the lighting was poor and it was growing late. I didn't want my wife wondering what I was doing until I was prepared to explain it to her. Gathering the box up in my arms, I hurried home and hid it in the barn.  
  
Once dinner was done and the children were all in bed, I snuck into the barn and began to read. The tale that was written there was so surreal I would never have believed it if I didn't know some of it had already come true. Vespas had been a Templar, he had brought my ancestor with him to Carthis. The story had been passed down, and I had found the scrolls. and now I want nothing more than to make them come true.  
  
I don't believe there is anything wrong with wanting power however, no matter what Sir Addecius said. He was a Knight, one who was revered by men and feared by kings. He had all the power he needed, he didn't know what it was like to be a lowly crypt-keeper.  
  
I will admit that the warning about the price that the one who fulfills the prophecies must pay caused a moment of unease, but I shrugged it off quickly enough. How terrible could it really be? In the 14th century, everything in life was viewed through the eyes of mysticism, I'm sure that the payment he foresaw was not nearly as great as he imagined. And even if it was, I'm willing to give anything to free myself from the shackles of poverty.  
  
A distant land. I've wanted to leave Carthis for many years, I don't belong here. Everything I hear about America makes me long for it, for a new world where I can start my new life, my new foundation. the Centre. Tomorrow I will discuss this with my wife, and we can leave as soon as possible."  
  
Parker snorted in derision. "Betcha that didn't go quite the way you planned it," she said as she threw back the glass of scotch. "Then again, things in the Parker family seldom do," she added as she flipped the page, knowing from her time on Carthis what would be written in the next entry.  
  
"November 1,1908  
  
As I write this, I'm sitting on the deck of a boat, bound for America. I'm alone, my family is all dead. I killed them by my own hand. it was the only way to fulfill the prophecy.  
  
When I told my wife about the scrolls, she was unexpectedly resistant to the idea of leaving her home. What's more, she had this odd idea that founding such an organization would be wrong, evil even. "Things like that go against the very nature of God Ezra," she told me plainly, "and I won't be a part in it."  
  
I tried to convince her, but t'was to no avail. I left her in anger, thinking that later, when she calmed down, she would be more reasonable. A few hours later, I went to the barn to re-read the scrolls, but they were nowhere to be found. Believing my wife had hidden them from me in a misguided attempt to keep us here, I flew into a rage. Tearing back into the house, I found her and started screaming at her, telling her to give them back. When that didn't get me what I wanted, I beat her again and again, until she was beaten and bloody and barely conscious.  
  
The irony is, it wasn't even my wife who betrayed me, it was my daughter; my little Angel. I caught her skulking about and tried to get her to tell me what she'd done with them, but the impertinent lass wouldn't say a word, except to confirm that it had been her who'd stolen them.  
  
I felt a fleeting sensation of remorse for my unfair treatment of my wife, but it was surpassed by my need to retrieve the scrolls. "Angel," I said sweetly, "what did you do with Papa's scrolls?" Instead of answering, she just stared back at me with eyes that knew everything, eyes that seemed to look inside me and find me lacking.  
  
Finally, she said, "Papa does not need the scrolls, he has us. I gave them a new home, and only told my friend where it is."  
  
Despite all my attempts to cajole it out of her, she wouldn't say anything more. My temper grew even greater than it had been before, and I ran out of the house, barring the door from the outside. Grabbing a torch, I touched it to the roof and watched the house burn. As I walked away, the screams of my family echoed in my ears, but I had only one goal-finding the scrolls.  
  
She said she had told her friend. The only friend she had was the old priest, Father Theo. But when I tried to get him to give me the location, he too refused. In my anger I killed him as well, and then stole a boat, leaving the island for good.  
  
Despite everyone's best attempts to thwart me, I still will build the Centre. I have enough of the scrolls hidden in my memory to be able to do that, even without their guidance. The Centre shall rise."  
  
The blasé way in which he spoke about the evils he had committed made Parker want to throw up every drop of liquor she had consumed over the past two hours. Part of her wanted to throw the book in the fire, to pretend it had never happened, but some morbid curiosity drove her to turn to the last entry, dated just shortly after the Centre had been established.  
  
"July 10, 1909  
  
I've been in America for nearly a year, and finally the first step is complete. The Centre is now a reality, I have completed my destiny, the path that was begun by the knights who came to Carthis centuries ago. To honor them, and to keep a tangible connection to my beginnings, the design of the Centre echoes in many ways that of the monastery. The Tower here will be a constant presence in my life just as the crypt was there.  
  
Though I no longer have the scrolls, there is still one thing written in them that disturbs me. The old knight wrote of a boy, a man named Jarod who would be born with mysterious gifts, gifts that would enable him to destroy what I have fought so hard to build. Not only that, but he said that this boy would work with one of my own progeny, a Parker, to fulfill his destiny. This must not happen. At all costs, they must be stopped.  
  
So this is my message for my newborn son, for him to pass on to his son. Keep watch. Pay close attention to those around you. Find this Jarod, and don't let him fulfill the last part of the prophecy. Do whatever it takes to keep him from using his talents against us, but don't let him win.  
  
At the same time, watch your own children. Pay attention to one whose loyalties might be divided between the Centre and Jarod. Together, they must fail. The Centre will never be brought to it is knees, my family will always have the security that power alone can bring it."  
  
Parker slowly laid the book down, the images the last two entries left making her dry heave. Grabbing the half empty bottle that still sat on the coffee table, she quickly swallowed the rest of it in an attempt to erase what she had learned, but it didn't work.  
  
"Well, I learned at least one good thing," she muttered as she leaned back into the couch cushions. "The Centre actually is afraid of Jarod. and he can get rid of them."  
  
Shaking her head, she threw the book down on the coffee table in front of her. In the process, a piece of paper slid out from between the last page and the back cover. "What is this?" she wondered. "Something else that I will wish I hadn't read?" But when she unfolded the paper, her mouth went dry. It was a letter from her mother, addressed to her. dated just two weeks before her supposed suicide.  
  
"My dear daughter," it began,  
  
"If you're reading this letter, it means that Margaret and I failed in our attempt to locate the scrolls and free Jarod. If we were to succeed, I was planning to burn the journal and the letter so that you would never need to know the whole story. I'm so sorry that you had to find out your family history this way. I myself was shocked and appalled when I discovered the journal under the floorboards eight years ago. It answered so many of my questions, but raised just as many new ones.  
  
For two years I had been trying to help my friend Margaret learn why the Centre had taken her son. Your father would only tell me that his ability needed to be used for the world, but that didn't answer why it was necessary to keep him locked up like an animal instead of being allowed to run and play like a little boy should. There was something more there my inner sense kept telling me.  
  
When I read this journal, the sordid story of the Centre's beginnings, that something more became clear. He and Raines were not holding Jarod so they could train him, or so they could keep him safe from those who might exploit him. They were keeping him close so he wouldn't be able to take away the power they had been raised to think was their God-given right as Parkers.  
  
It occurs to me as I write this that you might not yet know about your relationship to Dr. Raines. Raines is your father's brother my love. he's your uncle. Even now at the age of ten your dislike for him is clear so I can only imagine how you must feel learning that, or felt when you did learn it if you knew already. But that is the least of your family's sins, as discovered when you read this volume.  
  
Margaret and I have spent the last eight years secretly trying to learn as much about the scrolls as possible. If we can find them, we will have the leverage we need to free Jarod. and according to Ezra, once he's free the end of the Centre will begin.  
  
You need to understand the role you're meant to play in this as well sweetheart. In that last entry, your great-grandfather made it clear that a Parker companion of Jarod's will have a destiny intertwined with his. As I've watched the two of you become friends, I've realized that you are the one he's speaking of. Be careful, your father and uncle will be watching you closely. Hide your loyalties from them, give them no opportunity to question you. Your life may depend on it.  
  
Since Margaret and I have failed in our goal, it is us to you and Jarod. You are both trapped by the lies and deceit of the Centre, you will only be free if you work together.  
  
Good luck baby."  
  
She was still reeling with shock when the phone rang. "What do you want Jarod?" she said tiredly after picking it up.  
  
"How did you know it was me?" he asked, surprised.  
  
"Easy," she said dryly. "Whenever I find out something horrible about my family, you're always the first person to call. So what do you want?"  
  
"What did you find?" he countered.  
  
"Oh, same old same old, we're evil, horrible people who should be wiped from the face of the earth."  
  
"Parker, you're not like your family, you know that," he reminded her.  
  
She leaned back against the couch with a sigh and said, "Jarod, I doubt you called just to reassure me of my innate goodness, so what do you want?"  
  
"Well, actually I was going to ask if you had learned anything new. My trail seems to be leading back to Carthis and somehow I doubt I will find anything new there."  
  
She paused for a moment, considering. She had just been wondering how she could get Jarod here. "It is time," she finally said.  
  
"Time for what?" he asked, confused.  
  
"It is time for the game to end," she told him enigmatically.  
  
He immediately caught her meaning but was afraid to believe it was finally happening. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Yes Jarod, this is it."  
  
"Ok," he said quietly and hung up.  
  
Parker's arm flopped off the side of the couch, the phone falling from her limp fingers to land on the floor with a soft thud. The shock of her family's sordid history was starting to sink in, and she could do little more than stare at the flames.  
  
A knock at the back door roused her from her blank thoughts. Rising to see who it was, she somehow was not surprised when she saw Jarod looking back at her through the window. "You called me from my backyard?" she asked, an eyebrow raised.  
  
"It was not the first time," he remarked wryly as he stepped into her kitchen. "So are you sure you're ready to do this?"  
  
"Yes," she said firmly. "It is time this stopped for good."  
  
"What changed your mind?" he asked curiously.  
  
"You did. in a way. You were right, when you said they don't want you for your pretending abilities. Well, half right anyway. They don't want you so they can use them, they want you so you cannot."  
  
"Was that supposed to make sense?"  
  
"Think about it Jarod!! I know you want to get rid of the Centre. You always fight for justice, what is the weapon you use? How do you figure out what the criminals have done and why they did it?"  
  
"No." he said, slowly realizing what she was saying. "You cannot be serious!! Do you know what that would be like?"  
  
"Yes. Yes Jarod, I know. I know because I've had to live with the evil in my life for so long that sometimes I forget where it stops and I begin. But it is the only way. You were born with this ability so you could use it against them."  
  
"That is what Addecius said," Jarod whispered, afraid to believe it.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The knight who wrote the scrolls left me a letter, saying it was my destiny to be the only one with the power to stop them. I just wish I didn't have to. How should I do it?" he asked resignedly.  
  
"There is only one person who has the knowledge necessary to get rid of the Centre," she told him quietly.  
  
"You want me to sim Raines??" he asked incredulously. "I've spent a good chunk of my life trying to keep him out of my mind, and now you want me to let him in willingly?"  
  
"No, I want you to get into his head, not the other way around. Jarod. Do you think you will ever be able to find your family and live with them if the Centre is still around? They will never let it happen. You. we have to stop them. I'll help once we have the plan, but you're the only one who can make the plan." 


	12. Blue Cove, present

Chapter 12: Blue Cove, Delaware; present time  
  
Parker stared up at the tower before walking into the Centre for the last time. This building had shadowed her entire life, dictating who she was going to be, but no more. Today was the last day, today it would end.  
  
Once they had started thinking like Raines, it had been easy to discover the Centre's Achilles Heel. Like all chains, it could only be as strong as it is weakest link, and that link could only be as strong as it is weakest point. Raines' weak point lay in his greatest fear-fire. Jarod had mentioned off-hand that it made a lot of sense when you thought about it- after all, the man had suffered severe burns when he was shot in the oxygen tank.  
  
Parker had stared at him, her mind moving at a million miles a second. "What?" he finally asked, unnerved by her intense silence.  
  
"The Centre has an oxygen source," she'd said quietly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The day Brigitte tried to kill Daddy, Raines was trapped inside the building with us. His personal oxygen tank ran low and Sydney had to hook him up to the Centre oxygen supply."  
  
"I am not sure where you're going with this Parker."  
  
"What if we found a way to ignite the oxygen? The whole building would go up in flames."  
  
"And everyone inside," Jarod pointed out.  
  
"I thought that was the point. Don't tell me you're worried about Raines' health."  
  
"Not hardly. But doesn't it seem too similar to what your great grandfather did? Locking the house and setting it on fire?"  
  
Parker looked down in defeat. "You're right. I guess there's more Parker in me than I thought," she replied bitterly.  
  
"Parker," Jarod said firmly, grabbing her by the shoulders, "don't do that. You can't take the guilt for your ancestors' actions, you just need to make sure you don't unwittingly repeat them."  
  
"Right, and that's so easy," she said sarcastically.  
  
"The plan is a good one," he said, ignoring her last comment. "We just need to make sure no one gets hurt."  
  
"And how do you propose we do that Genius?"  
  
He'd been quiet for a minute, the wheels in his head turning. "We tell the authorities first," he finally said, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.  
  
"And that would help us how? If the fire department got there before anything really happened, it would just be another incident like SL-27."  
  
"Not the fire department. We bring in the FBI. I have been collecting evidence against the Centre for a long time, I can give it to one of my FBI contacts and have them just far enough away that Raines and Lyle won't be alerted. Once the fire is started, the building will be evacuated. They'll coming pouring outside right into the waiting arms of the authorities."  
  
"See, this is why I put you in charge of the plan," she said approvingly.  
  
"Being a genius has it is advantages," he said smugly, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms behind his head.  
  
"And clearly one of them is not humility," she retorted, grabbing a pillow and socking him with it.  
  
"Well, here goes nothing," she muttered as she walked toward the tech lab, her the clicking of her heels echoing in the empty hallway. She stepped in the room without announcing herself and slammed the door shut, making the only occupant jump out of his chair in fright.  
  
"Miss Parker! What are you doing here?" Broots stuttered. "I mean, what do you need?" he amended when she simply raised an eyebrow. "Please don't ask me to break into Raines' office again, I just can't take that kind of stress."  
  
"Relax Broots, you've got an easy job today," she told him with a smirk. "I just need you to shut down the surveillance in the elevators and on SL-20 for me, can you do that?"  
  
"Without them noticing? Ah, that might be hard," he warned her, his left eye twitching nervously.  
  
"Come on Broots, loop the feed! Even I know that!" she said impatiently.  
  
"Right. loop the feed. I can do that," he muttered to himself as he sat down and went to work.  
  
"How long will it take you?" she asked, glancing down at her watch.  
  
"Give me five minutes to get enough feed to keep them in the dark," he told her.  
  
"Thanks Broots," she said, walking back to the door. Before she opened it she half turned back to him and said, "Oh. Broots? Be ready to leave the building in about thirty minutes, okay?"  
  
"Right," he said distractedly, staring at his screen.  
  
Parker timed it perfectly, stepping onto the elevator exactly five minutes after she had left Broots staring at the computer screen. "As long as Jarod remembered to warn Sydney, we're set," she muttered as she punched the button for SL-20.  
  
A minute later the doors opened with a ding. Drawing her gun, she moved cautiously into the hallway, eyes open for a wandering sweeper or any signs that Broots hadn't been successful in distracting security. "Well, apparently even he couldn't mess this up," she said sarcastically when she was certain the area was clean.  
  
In a few quick strides, she was in the small electrical room where Sydney had hooked Raines up to the oxygen. Prying the fuse box open, she aimed her 9mm at it and fired. "One electrical fire, coming up," she said with a satisfied smirk, watching wires spark. "Now let's get out of here before it's too late."  
  
She started to avoid the tower elevator out of habit, then changed her mind. "If we're going to do this, let's do it right," she told herself as the doors closed. "Let's get rid of all the demons. even the ones in this damn elevator."  
  
The familiar churning in her stomach that was always present when she when she was here increased a moment later when the smooth motion of the elevator lurched and then came to a shuddering halt. "What's going on?" she mumbled as the lights flickered on and off.  
  
In the half light, she tore open the electrical panel and grabbed the security phone. "Dead," she said hoarsely when she heard the dial tone. "This is not happening, I am not going to die here!" she half yelled as hysteria settled in.  
  
She clawed at the doors fiercely, unfeeling of the broken nails and bloody fingers she was receiving. "Let me out of here," she yelled as she pounded at them with her fists, knowing even as she did so that it was futile. No one could hear her through these walls, and even if they could they'd soon be too concerned with getting out of the burning building to stop and help her.  
  
"I'm so sorry Mama," she whispered as she sank to the floor in defeat, her eyes glued to the thirty year old bullet hole. "If only I'd."  
  
Her thought was interrupted by a loud bang. "What the hell." she wondered, rising to her feet and wiping the tears from her eyes.  
  
She watched unbelievingly as the top hatch opened. "Angelo!" she shouted when she caught sight of the man smiling down at her. "Get me out of here!"  
  
"Daughter safe," he promised, reaching down to grab her.  
  
"Thanks to you," she told him as he pulled her up. "Now how do we get out of here before the building goes up in flames?" she asked once she was standing firmly on the top of the elevator.  
  
"Up here Parker," a voice called from above.  
  
"Sydney? Is that you?" she questioned, squinting up in the darkness. "Where are you?"  
  
"I'm on SL-2, if I throw you a rope, can you climb up the rest of the way?"  
  
"Yes! Just get me out of here!"  
  
A few minutes later, she was pulling herself out of the elevator shaft, onto the cold safe floor of the sublevel. "Let's pull Angelo up, there's not much time," she panted.  
  
"What are you talking about Parker?" Sydney questioned as he started to pull the other man up.  
  
"Fire. the Centre's on fire," she said as the alarms went off on cue. "Jarod and I rigged it so the oxygen will catch fire and set the whole thing ablaze. we need to get out of here," she insisted as Angelo came into sight.  
  
"So that's why Angelo was so insistent that we not wait for help to get you out of there," Sydney murmured as the ran to the stairwell.  
  
"What are you talking about?" she asked.  
  
"I was visiting him today, just like usual, when he became very agitated. He kept insisting that you were in trouble and we needed to help you, and when I tried to call for someone, he just took off for the elevator shaft."  
  
"Lucky for me," she said as they stumbled out into the main floor. "Now let's get out of here."  
  
"Look!! That's her," Lyle said, waving at her as they exited the building. "She's just as involved in this as I am, she even tried to kill me once," he insisted to the officer who was putting cuffs on him.  
  
"Jarod?" the agent said questioningly.  
  
"She's fine Bailey, you've got everyone you need," the pretender assured his friend.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Lyle sputtered. "That's Miss Parker, the chairman's daughter! She's in this as deep as I am!"  
  
"Mr. Lyle, I'd advise you to keep comments like that to yourself until you speak with an attorney. Until then, you have the right to remain silent." Bailey said as he dragged Lyle toward a waiting car.  
  
"Well Parker," Jarod said, coming up beside her as the last of the federal agents cleared out. "How do you feel now?"  
  
She was quiet for a moment, watching the as the fire truly picked up. "I feel. lost," she finally said. "Everything I've ever known was in that building, it's like I'm watching my home burn down. except I never wanted to be there in the first place."  
  
"I know," he said quietly, watching her intently as he backed away. Once he was certain she had forgotten he was even there, he turned and walked away. Finally, for the first time in his life, he was free. yet he felt more chained than he ever had before.  
  
Parker, Broots, Sydney, and Angelo all stood there, lost in thought and unable to process all the emotions coursing through them. After today, nothing would be the same. A fire cleanses and purifies, giving room for a new start.  
  
"Where are we going now?" Broots asked, voicing the fear they all had. For once in their lives, the decisions were up to them; it was a feeling that was as frightening as it was liberating. If decisions are made for you, the consequences are not your fault. After so many years they were able to take responsibility for the direction their lives took, and pray they did the right things.  
  
"Anywhere but here Broots," Parker answered, finally turning her back on the fire. "Anywhere but here," she repeated, walking away.  
  
"You should go get Debbie from school Broots, she'll be worried when she hears about the fire," Sydney suggested gently.  
  
"What? Oh right. thanks Sydney," he said absently. "Sydney. will we see each other again?" he asked.  
  
"I hope so," the older man replied warmly.  
  
"I do too. good luck Syd," Broots said before leaving.  
  
"Good luck Broots," Sydney said softly as he watched the other man leave.  
  
A moment later, his attention was drawn back to Angelo, who was kneeling on the ground, staring at the flames that consumed the only home he could remember. "Terribilis est locus iste," he muttered. "Terribilis est locus iste."  
  
Sydney crouched down in front of him, placing his hand gently on the man- boy's arm. "Yes Angelo," he agreed, "Terrible things happened here. We lived through them, all of us. But that is all over now, it's done. We can go somewhere else and start over. Come, let's go."  
  
But Angelo shook his head violently, refusing to be moved. He remained fixated on the blaze, yelling, "Terrible things happened here, terrible. terrible." over and over until his voice was hoarse from the yelling and the smoke in the air.  
  
Despite all of Sydney's urgings, he wouldn't leave until the last ember died down. They remained there until dusk, as the fire burnt out, leaving a black mark on the earth surrounding the shell of what had once been the Centre. It was as if the building was leaving a permanent scar on the earth, a shadow of the evil that had once been centered on this spot.  
  
Staring at the mark for one last minute, Angelo whispered again, "Terribilis est locus iste," and turned to walk away. Sydney looked from him to the hollow building and back to the empathy. Somewhere in his soul he felt a stirring, a warning that the personal scars would be just as hard to get rid of as this mark on the landscape. Terrible things had happened here, and they had left a permanent impression on those who had lived during them. Each of them had the same shadow of evil written across his soul, a constant reminder of what they had come from, a driving force that would push them to something better. 


	13. Epilogue: Rouen, 1280

A/N: Id like to thank everyone who has reviewed this story. Your wonderful comments made me glad to share this with you.  
  
I also want to thank Becca and SA for helping me with details. If it wasnt for you two, Id still be stuck with just the skeleton of the riddle... thanks so much.  
  
Epilogue: Rouen, France; 1280  
  
They came again, as they had so many other nights in the past. Dark visions of evil men wielding tremendous power, committing such unspeakable acts as altering the very nature of a person. The cold stone building they worked in reminded Addecius of the cathedrals and monasteries of Europe, but instead of being built to glorify the Christ, the Holy Mother, and the Saints, it was built to deify man.  
  
The dream finally ended, bringing with it a blessed wakefulness to the knight whose sleep had been haunted by it every night for the last fourteen days. As he looked around, he realized from the still glowing embers in the fireplace that he had only been asleep for a few hours. It had seemed like so much longerso many lifetimes passed in those visions, so many years of pain and sadness.  
  
His eyes settled on one thing: the shield that identified him to the world as a member of the Knights of the Military Order of the Temple of Solomon. Usually the sight of the red cross emblazoned on the white background filled him with pride in his service, but looking at it now he felt a sense of dread, for tonight it appeared to have been possessed by a spirit, so brightly did it glow in the dark room.  
  
He knew of course that it was simply the way the fire was reflecting off of it, but he also sensed that there was something more, a deeper meaning to be found in this symbolism. It almost seemed as if the Lord himself was sending him a message... as he had been in these strange visions. With a sigh, he knew what this message was, and what he had to do.  
  
Rising from the bed, he lit a candle and retrieved a scroll and his quill and ink from their rightful places before sitting down at his desk. In the daylight, he could see the main square of Rouen from here but right now the city was still dark, as it would be for several hours. He only hoped that writing this out would enable him to finally gain a peaceful nights sleep. In the past weeks, he had become all too familiar with the pink of dawn crowning over the top of the city hall and the constant weariness caused by missing too much sleep.  
  
Gazing sightlessly out at the dark landscape, he thought once more of the visions he had had, and prayed they would never come true. But he knew that if they did, if this shadow of evil ever grew into reality, then the good man he saw, the one who could end it allthis Jarodwould need to understand the role he would play, and only Addecius to could explain it to him.  
  
And yet even as he unrolled the scroll and opened his precious bottle of ink, Addecius fought against writing his visions down. There was something unholy about them, and the act of writing them out would give them a permanence he did not want them to have. Would not the world be a better place if they died with him?  
  
For a moment he was tempted to set the pen down and crawl back into bed, but something stopped him. As much as he hated it, he needed to write out what he had seen. The visions were compelling him, clamoring within him to be shared, and he knew he would not get a moments peace until he complied with their demands.  
  
Staring at the candle, he wondered how he could explain his visions in every day language. The things he saw, the places he had been taken, it was all so foreign to him. He struggled to find the words, but none were forthcoming. After a moment he simply dipped his pen in the ink and began to write, trusting in the Lords guidance to make his story clear. Indeed, it was amazing how smoothly the words flowed from his quill as he began to write.  
  
I Addecius, a knight of the Military Order of the Temple of Solomon, do write this with my own hand on this, the 14th of September in the Year of Our Lord twelve hundred and eighty. A fortnight has passed and every night my sleep has been disturbed by visions. Finally tonight I have admitted to myself what I knew from the firstthis is a prophecy given to me by our Most Holy Lord Jesus, a prophecy I must share. Therefore I sit here in my room in Rouen and transcribe all that I have seen.  
  
But before I begin, I must state the depth with which I long these visions had come to another soul, for I know I will be haunted by them for the rest of my life. That said, this is what I saw.  
  
The visions all begin in the same way: another knight of our Order takes a set of mysterious scrolls with him on a journey to a strange land. The scrolls promise great power to the one who can bring forth their works; power to control people and governments, to tamper with the very soul of our fellow man, to live life as one above the law. He has been tempted by this power, and in his weakness he allows himself to be turned from the Rule of the Order to seek his own gain.  
  
Along his way he will encounter a man by the name of Parker, whose family is destined to fulfill all that is written in the scrolls. He will take Parker with him to an island off the coast of Scotland and establish his own order of monks, dedicated to keeping the secret of the scrolls until the time has come.  
  
They will keep the secret for almost six hundred years, guarding it as they would their own lives. In that time an unholy alliance will be formed between the monks, the guardians of the scrolls, and the Parkers, the ones destined to fulfill them. The two will work as point and counterpoint, challenging and supporting each other at the same time, each helping the other to grow in strength and power until the time comes.  
  
Then the crypt keeper, a descendant of the same Parker who took our wayward knight north some six hundred years earlier, will find the scrolls and be consumed by the same obsession with power that drove the earlier knight from the confines of the Order. The power of the scrolls will be so great that he will be willing to sacrifice his very soul just for a taste of it, and indeed he will have to. He will leave his home for distant shores, building a new life.  
  
This new life will be focused on one thing, a place of power so great and so evil I can barely stand to write about it. For generations after, his family will be filled with the same greed that caused him to create his dynasty, and they will follow in his footsteps, rising to even greater levels of power. They will commit unspeakable acts, acts against humanity itself, twisting and perverting the nature of man.  
  
At last, one will be born who can turn the tide. He will not have an easy life ahead of him, and in fact will be torn from his own family in order that he may follow his destiny. But in the end, the Parker family will fall by his hand. He will have special gifts, gifts that the Centre will try to use for evil but which will eventually be their own downfall. As it is with all who try to control every outcome of life, their own foolish pride will blind them to what is happening until they can do nothing to fight back. They have a destiny of evil which will fall, but one has a destiny of justice which will prevail.  
  
Along the way he will find an unlikely partnerone who belongs to the Parker bloodline but whose heart remains untainted by the greed and power- lust that runs the family. Together they will stop the madness that is the Centre.  
  
These are the visions which were given to me by Our Gracious Lord Jesus, prophecies detailing both the frightful evil man is capable of and the power that two good people have to destroy that evil. This is written, and so it shall be: The Centre shall rise. The chosen will be found, a boy named Jarod. 


End file.
